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UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 



GAME-BIRDS 
AT HOME. 



BY THE SAME AUTHOR, 



•'That prince of sportsmen, T. S. Van Dyke."— Sacramenfo 
(Cal.) Bee. 

SOUTHERN CALIFORNIA : 

Its Valleys, Hills, and Streams ; Its Animals, Birds, and 
Fishes ; its Gardens, Farms, and Climate. i2mo, Ex. 
Clo., beveled, $1.50. 
"May be commended without any of the usual reservations." 

—San Francisco Chronicle. 

THE STILL-HUNTER: 

A Practical Treatise on Deer-Stalking, ismo, Ex. Clo., 
beveled, I2.00. 

"The best, the very best work on deer- hunting."— Spirrt of the 
Times (N. Y.). 

"Altogether the best and most complete American book we 
have yet seen on any branch of field sports."— New York Evening 
Post. 

RIFLE, ROD, and GUN in CALIFORNIA : 

A Sporting Romance. Ex, Clo., beveled, $1.50; paper, 
50 cents. 

" Crisp and readable throughout, and at the same time gives a 
full and truthful technical account of our Southern California 
game, afoot, afloat, or on the wing."— /Saji Francisco Alta Califor- 
nia. 

MILLIONAIRES OF A DAY: 
An Inside History of the Great Southern California Boom. 

Ex. Clo., beveled, $1.00; paper, 50 cents. 

" Mr. Van Dyke has the literary art, which is the art of seeing 
things as they are. The present volume is very readable and 
amusing, but it has other charms, both of style and interest. . . . 
It is a book of absolute honesty,"— Charles Dudley Wakner. 



GAME BIRDS 
AT HOME ^ 



By THEODORE S:VaN DYKE 

AUTHOR OF "THE STILL HUNTER " ; 

*' SOUTHERN California" ; etc. 




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NEW- YORK: FORDS, HOWARD, 
AND HULBERT^ 1895 



Copyright, in 1895, 

BY 

Theodore S. Van Dyke. 



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X 1 1}^ 



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PREFACE. 



To the majority of sportsmen love of nature 
is the principal element in the love of hunting. 
The pleasure of exercising skill in the finding 
and capture of game is really secondary to this, 
and still more subordinate is the flavor or size of 
the game. Thousands enjoy a stroll with the 
dog, out of season, almost as well as the real 
hunt. 

To please such, a book should be made up of 
selected charms of the field. 

These are, first and foremost, the nature of 
the game, its action and behavior. The mere 
form or size is of no more consequence than 
the flavor. Why the action of certain birds will 
give man more delight than that of others is 
one of nature's secrets. We can only say it is 
charming; and describe it as we know it. 

5 



6 PREFA CE, 

Besides its own fascination, this action must 
be such as to require a high degree of skill in 
man or dog, and generally in both, to effect 
capture. Yet, though game must occasionally 
drop to gratify man's inborn love of exercising 
skill, there must be no murder. 

Then, too, the stage of action must be the 
home of the bird, — that natural scenery the 
sportsman loves so well to roam without a gun. 
And this must be depicted true in color to its 
place and season. 

Small room for mistake is left me on these 
points, after forty years of play with the gun 
and eighteen years of writing for the sportsmen 
of America. Chiefly for them this book is 
written, and that rather to touch certain tender 
chords of memory than to convey information ; 
although the lover of nature who is not yet an 
expert huntsman may, I trust, find some hints 
of experience not altogether without value to 
him. 

As to pictorial illustration, it is a sound rule 
of art that a picture must explain itself: one 
that requires exposition, or wandering of the 
eye to connect leading features, is generally a 



PREFACE. 7 

bore. But when you apply this rule to a picture 
of field-sports — especially with small game, limit 
the action to a narrow background, and against 
this group the actors so clearly that every one 
must understand it at a glance, you have por- 
trayed rank murder. Though easy killing occa- 
sionally happens, it is a matter always of regret, 
not of pride ; a parade of it is simply digusting. 
Fine drawing of shiny guns, fancy leggings, 
and other fashionable ** toggery" on the killer 
behind the gun, help this kind of **art" like a 
red rosette on the tail of the prize ox falling 
beneath the sledge at the shambles. Even a 
butcher would be disgusted with a painting of a 
lamb bleeding on the block ; and the more per- 
fect the dripping blood, the more damnable the 
outrage upon art in the selection of such a 
subject. 

A picture that should even touch the field 
that charms — with its wide range, its varied 
features and colors, and its almost invisible game 
— would be more of a map than a picture. The 
rules of art cannot be safely violated. Neither 
can the rules of the sportsman's taste : and Posi- 
tively no murder is the first of these. I have 



8 PREFACE. 

tried to reconcile these conflicting elements, but 
have not yet succeeded to my own satisfaction. 
As this is not the Blood-Snuffer's Manual, I 
illustrate with facts, in words. For most of my 
readers this will be clear enough. 

Los Angeles, Cal., May, 1895. 



CONTENTS. 



PAGE 

I. Bob White ii 

II. The Woodcock ., 28 

III. The Ruffed Grouse 44 

IV. The Pinnated Grouse 61 

V. The Sharp-tailed Grouse 77 

VI. Days Among the Ducks 92 

VII. Days on the Illinois 106 

VIII. The Wild Goose 119 

IX. The American Cranes 133 

X. Days Among the Plover 146 

XI. The Quails cf California 159 

XII. Wilson's Snipe 178 

XIII. Salt-water Birds 192 

XIV. The Wild Turkey 205 

9 



GAME-BIRDS AT HOME. 



BOB WHITE. 



Crimson stars the gum-tree's glossy green, 
the speckled breast of the young robin is turn- 
ing reddish brown, chips of nutshells begin to 
carpet the ground beneath the lofty hickory, and 
a vague yearning steals over the sportsman. 
Strange yet tender feeling, unlike anything 
else in the human breast, — and how early it 
comes! The massive green of the timxbered hill 
is yet untinged with gold, and the blue gentian 
has scarcely unfolded its fringed petals, while 
down by the brook the chelone is just opening 
its hood of pinkish white. From the slender 
spikes of the linaria still hang racemes of softest 



12 GAME-BIRDS AT HOME. 

blue; amid the down of the thistle yet gleam 
the yellow and black of the goldfinch, and the 
hare still makes his form in the woods instead of 
going to the open. Little sign of autumn ; yet 
that strange feeling deepens by the day. 

Anon the bobolink in somber suit chirps sad 
farewell above our heads, russet and gold steal 
over the oaks, red lights the fading green of the 
maple, and a change comes over the old dog. 
No longer does he tap out a lazy welcome on the 
floor with his tail at your approach, but springs 
to his feet and with sparkling eye tries to fathom 
your intentions. 

A few more days, and from the edge of the 
timber, where the sweet berries of the viburnum 
are darkening among its reddening leaves, comes 
a Cloi-ee — ee, cloi-ee — ee^ cloi-ee — ee^ cloi-ee — ee 
that sets your soul ablaze. How different from 
the ** Bob White " that so lately rang across the 
harvest-field, yet how gentle and penetrating 
this autumn call of the quail ! He who has never 
felt its sweet power when the hills are arrayed in 
crimson and gold and a mellower sunlight falls 
from on high has missed the strangest emotion 
of the human breast. And strong must be the 



BOB WHITE. 13 

chains of business to hold one when the pearly 
scales of the everlasting rustle in the fall winds 
and the persimmon is reddening among its half- 
bare branches, when the jingling note of the jay 
in the russet of the white oak is nearly all that 
remains of the late music of the woods, and the 
crimson of the cardinal grosbeak the last flash of 
brilliant life. 

What bright oases on the desert of existence 
were those mornings when the hoar-frost sparkled 
on the buckwheat-stubble with the dogs in roll- 
ing canter sniffing the bracing air ! The squeal 
of the highholder or mournful piping of the 
robin, the flitting gray of some belated song- 
sparrow, the tender twittering of waxwings flirt- 
ing their golden edgings and long topknots in 
the dark cedar, and the dull Chuck of some lone 
blackbird hastening south above our heads, all 
cast a saddening influence around the dying year. 
Yet we never felt so full of gladsome life, hearts 
never beat with higher expectations, and dogs 
never showed more sparkling eyes. We knew 
the shortest stubble could hold dozens of the 
dear little quails within a few feet of us, and only 
the keen nose of the dog could tell us of their 



14 GAME-BIRDS AT HOME. 

presence. The dogs, too, knew our inability and 
felt proud of our reliance on them. And when 
at last they settled to unwavering firmness and 
from before them rose lines of brown mingled 
with white and ashy blue and spots of black, 
with a haze on either side made by whizzing 
wings, all spinning at tremendous speed for the 
timber, it mattered little whether we had a gun 
or not. Many a mile, before the law permitted 
shooting, have I roamed without a gun to see 
that sight, and many a mile would I go to-day 
to see it once more. 

There was deep satisfaction, too, in being the 
victim of that trick of Bob's, withholding scent. 
Whether he did it voluntarily or not was all 
the same; and when we had tramped and re- 
tramped the exact spot on which we saw a dozen 
birds alight, and the noses lately so keen had 
swept almost every inch of it without finding 
more than a bird or two and perhaps none, our 
disappointment was mingled with pleasure in 
having a genius to cope with. And there was 
no half-hour more pleasant than that we spent 
whistling an occasional imitation of his soft 
autumn call and waiting for him to move. 



BOB WHITE, 15 

And what delightful anticipation when the ten- 
der Cloi-ee — ee^ cloi-ee — ee, cloi-ee — ee came in 
plaintive tones from where the witch-hazel was 
putting forth its long golden petals, and another 
answered from where the red berries of the 
wintergreen were still shining among its ever- 
green leaves ; and another chimed in where the 
scarlet arils of the bittersweet were blazing in 
the tangled brake, and from the bunch of briers 
almost beside you and the clumps of whitening 
grass in front came from another, another, and 
another little throat the same sweet note ! 

How close they lay, and what short flights 
they made, before persecution changed the habits 
of these charming birds! Yet even then how 
hard to get ! Do you remember, when the dog 
stood over a clump of dead grass with nose 
almost perpendicular, how often you had to kick 
in it before anything would move? And when 
out it came, and the dog made a vain snap at its 
tail, and it curled over your head and vanished 
among the dense green of the cat-brier before 
you could turn around, and curiosity and re- 
proach were mingled in the deep dark eye the 
dear old dog turned for a moment upon you, 



1 6 GAME-BIRDS AT HOME. 

you felt very small. Yet you felt consolation in 
being victimized by such a smart bird, and went 
on to look for another with more love than ever. 
And when again you found the dog in icy rigid- 
ity where the woolly tails of the clematis made a 
haze in the thicket of wild plum by the brook- 
side, and through the dense tangle of twigs and 
still clinging leaves two brown streaks shot from 
before him and you had to drop on one knee to 
get a full sight of them and have your gun clear 
of the brush, — who would suppose that anything 
but disappointment could be your portion again? 
Ah ! when along the gun you caught a glimpse 
of buzzing white where the mottled breast was 
wheeling through an opening, and dimly saw a 
puff of feathers mingle with the shower of dead 
leaves and twigs, yet had no time to mark re- 
sults, but turned the gun into the mass of cover 
in which the other bird had already vanished, 
and sent another charge of shot a foot or two 
ahead of the last place where you saw it — what 
sweet uncertainty was that ! You fancied you 
heard each time a faint thump on the ground, 
but fancy had toyed too often with your hopes. 
And when the dog drew and picked up some- 



BOB WHITE. 17 

thing from near where the first one should have 
fallen, how your heart swelled with pride! But 
when he vanished in the direction the other 
bird had taken, and the pattering of his feet on 
the dead leaves slowly ceased, and for a moment 
all was still, and then in joyous gallop he re- 
turned with a dead bird and laid it in your hand, 
you felt you had not lived in vain. Foolish 
feelings, perhaps ; but the best of our race have 
yielded to their soft sway, and dear little Bob 
White has brought more rest to the business- 
wearied soul, more new life to tired humanity, 
than nearly all other American game combined. 
In his sweet presence you feel a contempt for 
'' trophies," for game that some Indian has to 
call up to you, or a guide row you up to. Mere 
trash is all game too big to handle, beside this 
little beauty that fills but a corner of your pocket. 
On no other bird does the sportsman's best 
companion so delight his soul with noble work. 
Years cannot blot the memory of the long trail 
old Don made on that November morning when 
the covey you had found on the stubble and driven 
into the wood had become too widely scattered 
for farther hunting. About the time you had 



1 8 GAME-BIRDS AT HOME. 

given up hope of finding any more birds, the dog 
suddenly seemed weary. His legs dragged and 
settled to a pace suitable for a snail's funeral. 
On he went, with young Frank waddling solemnly 
along in the rear as if an old hand at the business. 
Rod after rod Don crept, sneaking under fallen 
logs, winding cautiously around tree-tops, crawl- 
ing through cat-briers, sniffing the air gingerly 
with twitching nostrils; Frank following with 
funereal tread : but neither pointing. On they 
go one hundred yards, then fifty more with pace 
becoming slower; but still they do not stop. 
Don's pace settles to a crawl, with the wavy 
motion of his tail almost ceasing, yet on he goes, 
and Frank, so well born that he scarcely needs 
breaking, creeps thievishly along, full thirty feet 
in the rear. 

From a bunch of briers a few feet from Don's 
nose a hare scatters the dry leaves with rapid 
foot. Chasing a hare was the only weakness of 
that good old dog, and no amount of thrashing 
or failures to catch a hare ever taught him the 
inexpediency of the pursuit. But now with con- 
temptuous glance at the bit of flickering wool 
he goes straight on. Down in the shade, along 



BOB WHITE. 19 

a little spring run, he winds more and more 
slowly where the horsetails stand tall and gray 
and the bracken- ferns are rusty and red. Sud- 
denly he comes to a dead stop, settling low like 
a crouching cat, with tail quivering at the tip and 
nose pointed at a clump of ferns a few feet ahead. 
From the ferns a brown haze of buff and rose- 
wood colors tipped with a long bill whirls spiral- 
ly upward through the tree-tops with whistling 
wing, but not a feather accompanies the little 
shower of twigs and dead leaves your shot brings 
down. 

A long trail, wasn't it? But who ever knew a 
woodcock run that far? 

Old Don answers by going slowly on again, 
young Frank prowling along with the gravity of 
a sphinx. Down a long slope, over the bright 
green leaves and shining red berries of the par- 
tridge-berry, now with majestic march that 
shows sublime confidence in the outcome, now 
with the slow caution of a circus elephant walk- 
ing over his keeper, now with a bit of wavering 
that shows the game far ahead, but still with no 
lack of faith, old Don leads, with Frank still 
creeping in the rear. 



20 GAME-BIRDS AT HOME. 

And at last Don almost stops, and with nose 
upraised and slowly oscillating tail sniffs tenderly 
in the direction of a fallen tree-top a few yards 
off, then, moving two or three half-steps with 
extreme caution, settles into a statue, with eyes 
intently fixed on the ground at the bottom of 
the tree-top. 

B — bbbbbbbbbbbbbbbb roars suddenly from the 
tangle of briers around the tree-top, and a ruffed 
grouse, scattering the dry leaves at the first burst 
of obstreperous wing, roars like a rocket upward. 
But, as his fanlike tail with its brown and gray 
and bars of jet fades amid the crowding twigs 
and leaves that still cling to the white-oak. Bang 
goes the gun aimed quickly a yard or more 
ahead of the last glimpse of brown, and down 
through crashing leaves and crackling twigs 
whirls something with a thump to earth. 

Wonderfully well done, wasn't it? But was 
it not also a very long trail for a ruffed grouse? 
Ah! Wait: Don's actions tell the story, for 
he resumes the grave tread of a moment ago, 
and on he goes right past the fallen grouse, 
noticing it only with a sniff, while Frank stops 
a moment and, looking alternately from you to 



BOB WHITE. 21 

Don, finally brings it to you and then resumes 
his place in the procession. 

Fifty yards more and Don stops, tosses up his 
nose a few times with dainty sniffs of the breeze, 
looks around at you with a tremendous mingling 
of importance and satisfaction, and then waddles 
slowly on again. A few yards more and he 
stops as if carved of stone. Then his tail begins 
to waver, he raises his nose again, then, creeping 
a few feet, he stops at the crest of a little knoll, 
and from the patches of briers on the other side 
comes at last, on your approach, that burst of buz- 
zing quail-wings that you have so longed to hear. 

The habits of Bob White in the West differ a 
little from those of his brethren on the Atlantic 
shores, but he is still the same lovely bird. After 
he recovers from his crazy spell in the first days 
of Indian Summer, when he gathers in droves, 
runs into town, and sometimes bumps his head 
against some building in his swift flight, he 
separates again into coveys ; and though he rarely 
lies so closely as in the East, he makes fine shoot- 
ing. The hedges of Osage orange used to be 
his favorite hiding-place on the prairie. With 
the dog to the leeward, two persons could have 



22 GAME-BIRDS AT HOME. 

fine shooting, one on each side of the hedge. 
Quick work was needed when out from the 
thorny mass the bird came whizzing in full head- 
way. Like a flash he was fading amid the tall 
gray stalks of the corn still standing dense and 
close to the hedge. Quick as thought had to 
be your aim if you wanted to see him whirl down 
amid the yellow pumpkins, for if he once van- 
ished in that corn he was no more for you that 
day. 

Nor was it so easy when out on the open 
prairie-side he came curling, with the sunlight 
dancing on his mottled breast of black and 
white, his little blue tail outspread, and the soft 
rosewood hues of his back in plain sight, wheeled 
around you perhaps and started down the hedge 
again. On that gigantic background it was easy 
to underestimate the speed and distance of the 
fleeting beauty, and just behind him the tall 
rosin-weed often bowed its still golden head and 
sank to earth at the report of your first barrel, 
while the second scattered some of the lingering 
sunflowers and brought perhaps a feather from 
the little blue tail, the loss of which only made 
its owner seem to vanish more swiftly. 



BOB WHITE. :23 

Where the prairie merges into timber in a Hne 
of rolling hills well covered with hazel this bird 
is most at home when the frost has tattered the 
proud banners of the hills. Down in the little 
swale where the rich pink of the rose mallow but 
lately glowed, and the faded petals still cling to 
the gray stem, the bevy, shaded by the hazel 
from the winds, lies basking in the sun. A gay 
whirl and roar they make as they spin away 
among the dead stalks from which the deep 
purple of the petalostemon so lately beamed, or 
vanish in the haze made by the numerous buds 
of the hazel. Then in the long, dead grass that 
twines about the hazel-roots they lie almost like 
stones, taxing the dogs' keenest nose to find 
them. And though mostly open shooting over 
the top of the brush, it is none too easy to clip 
the buzzing wing that often twists and dodges 
long enough to confuse you, or comes out of the 
brush far enough away to make quick work 
necessary and then, laughing at your slowness, 
spins down the prairie gale at a pace that leaves 
your shot behind again. 

In Minnesota and Wisconsin, after his little 
fit of wandering in large droves is over, Bob 



24 GAME-BIRDS AT HOME. 

White hangs about the outskirts of the grove of 
scrub white-oak that holds its leaves all v/inter. 
For this he will often make all speed, leaving 
the hazel where he has been sunning himself to 
such birds as like it. Whether the bevy flies 
over it, into it, or under it, you may find some 
of the birds ensconced in the thick leaves. Per- 
haps you know something of shooting, but you 
are not fully educated until you have tried to 
connect your line of sight over the gun with a 
brown flash through almost exactly the same 
color. Vastly is the difficulty increased by the 
downward curve of the line when the bird is in 
the top of a tree and darts through an opening 
below. At other times it shoots straight up- 
ward long enough to lead you to think you have 
caught its direction, and then, having cleared the 
top of the brush, it scuds away on a horizontal 
line that is gone glimmering among the dream 
of things that should be, before you can shift 
your gun to it. 

Little better may you fare when among the 
dead leaves and grass along the ground the bird 
lies hiding scarcely a yard from the nose of the 
statue into which the dog has suddenly turned. 



BOB WHITE. 25 

Drop on one knee as quickly as you will, the 
buzzing brown often fades into the russet canopy 
before you can possibly turn the gun upon it. 
Only the eye of faith can serve you now, and 
there must be no dust in that. In such cover a 
double shot is generally impossible, and by the 
time you have made a few single shots you will 
say you have found about the hardest shooting 
on earth. 

In the West the sportsman becomes better 
acquainted with Bob White out of shooting 
season than in the East. In the East his sum- 
mer call of ''Bob White" ringing over the 
harvest fields and an occasional glimpse of his 
plump little figure as he sits upon some distant 
fence is about all you get of him, unless you do 
as I have often done — hide well in the grass and 
call him to you by the call of the hen, and see 
him play around you in astonishment. But in 
the prairie states he used to be a common sight 
along the roads, and many a time the little 
brood rose with a soft whiz from in front of the 
horses as you drove along. Often when the 
ferns and grass of the prairie were starred with 
the soft gold of the lady-slipper, while the mild 



26 GAME-BIRDS AT HOME. 

purple of the sabbatia toned down the brilHant 
yellow of the sunflowers, and you advanced to 
the stiff-set dog expecting to see the pinnated 
grouse burst from before him, the anxious 
mother quail fluttered up with the tender notes 
that told of little ones in the grass. And some- 
times the white-throated father of the family 
helped the mother play lame while the little 
downy brood hid in the depths of the grass 
where neither dog nor man could find one of 
them. 

Often, too, when the deep violet of the ver- 
nonia was fading on its tall stalk and the last of 
the morning-glories closing, and you were certain 
that the dog had one of those wild grouse that 
had flown so far and you had marked so closely, 
a bevy of quail rose before you with a roar of 
full-grown wings almost equal to that of the 
grouse. And in the timbered hills where the 
prairies of the upper Mississippi break into the 
valley of the great river. Bob White would burst 
from before the dog in the swales of fern or be- 
neath the yellowing birches when you were most 
certain that he had a ruffed grouse. Yet you 
felt no disappointment, and plunged through the 



BOB WHITE. I^J 

thickets of crab-apple after them, scratched your 
way through the scrub-oak, tore through briers, 
and toiled up the hillside as eagerly as you 
would for the largest of game. 

Alas, the days that are no more ! Time plies 
his whizzing wing, and already dear Bob is with 
many older sportsmen but a memory of the past. 
But what a tender memory it is ! As many a 
day we hunted him without a gun, and felt re- 
warded for miles of travel with the sound of his 
buzzing wing, so now we have to hunt in 
memory's field, and in the recollection of his 
winsome ways find more pleasure than in the 
actual pursuit of what the world deems nobler 
game. Farewell, dear Bob ; for me, at least, 
thou hast made life worth the living; and when 
in the Happy Hunting-grounds my eyes open to 
the morning light, of all the bright company I 
there shall hope to see, to thee, dear Bob, the 
first of all, they'll turn ; yes, first of all to thee. 



II. 



THE WOODCOCK. 



Though Bob White has been a more famihar 
spirit because he spent the whole year with us 
and had more sides to his lovely nature, there is 
no bird I have walked so far to see as the wood- 
cock in his own wild home. What gave such 
charm to this frail being I never knew ; but it was 
not his fine flavor, or even the satisfaction of 
shooting him, for I have hunted the woodcock 
almost as much without a gun as with one. Be- 
fore the pure white of the blood-root illumined 
the sodden leaves, almost before the purling note 
of the bluebird was heard in the open, or the 
drum of the ruffed grouse sounded again in the 
laurel brake, I used to roam with the dog only 
the southern slopes along the spring runs and 
the warm open bogs, to renew acquaintance with 
this bird on his return from the South. Where 

28 



THE WOODCOCK. 29 

the snowy racemes of the shad-bush Ht up the 
still leafless thickets, what a thrill those little 
holes in the mud made by the woodcock's bill 
sent through my soul ! How I hunted often in 
vain by day to find the bird that made them, and 
went there again in the evening to see him tower 
twittering into the evening sky, and hear him 
sing his only song, the song of springtime and 
love ! 

And when the snowy involucre of the dogwood 
lit up the darkening halls of the woods, and the 
liquid tones of the wood-thrush made the falling 
of night so sweet, long have I lingered around 
the place where I knew there was a woodcock's 
nest. Many a time after I had found the sitting 
bird have I crawled softly up on hands and knees 
to see the beam of that dark liquid eye that has 
no equal elsewhere on earth. How I watched 
for the little ones to come, and reached the place 
early in the morning to see the old mother rise 
with feeble wing, flutter but a few feet, and then 
limp along the grass ! How I searched beneath 
every leaf and bit of grass until I found one of 
the little downy things, felt more happy than if 
I had sliot an elephant, and took more pleasure 



so GAME-BIRDS AT HOME. 

in seeing it run away, while the dog eyed it with 
quizzical look, than I would in shooting at it two 
or three months later ! And day after day I re- 
turned to see them until the azalea began to un- 
fold its pink upon the hills, and the fragrance of 
the magnolia to flood the swamps where its pure 
white shone, until the scarlet tanager flamed in 
the green of the maple, and the rich hues of the 
redstart illumined the shades of the hickory. 

Soon now my little friends became as hard to 
find as the yellow-breasted chat, whose rich voice 
seemed never mute in the depths of the thicket. 
In the damp ground along the brook, where the 
little ''teter" snipe glided so softly about, and 
the perfume of the muskrat rose on the evening 
air, I could find where their little bills had bored 
for worms, and occasionally late in the evening 
could start the mother along some boggy ground 
by the water ; but where were the young ones ? 

And when the carol of the robin was dying 
away in the orchard, the music of the thrush 
waning upon the elm, and the song of the cat- 
bird growing feebler in the hedge, how easy it 
was to find my little friends again, and how swift 
they were upon the wing, though not of full size ! 



THE WOODCOCK. 3 1 

Then, when the air began to be fragrant with 
dittany and balm, and the melancholy monotone 
of the cuckoo and the plaintive squeak of the 
peewee made most of the music of the woods, 
what lovelier sight than that haze of rosewood 
colors circling upward through the shade with 
whistling wing, and winding out of an opening 
so swiftly that eye and hand were rarely quick 
enough to catch it? All that held this bird was 
enchanted ground at this time of year. What 
mattered musquitoes, or steaming heat, or cob- 
webs across every opening in the woods, as long 
as there was a bit of damp ground in the dry 
spell of summer? And cheerfully we floundered 
through sticky mud and calamus and cat-tails to 
see that long bill clear their tops once more, and 
wheel away for the bank of willows in whose 
depths it would surely fade unless both hand and 
eye were quick as well as true. 

Later on the meadows were aflame with the 
butterfly-weed, and the rose-mallow tinged the 
marshes with soft pink; the towering bobolink 
no longer poured a flood of song, but clamorous 
blackbirds began to gather into flocks. Then 
what a prize a single woodcock often seemed, 



32 GAME-BIRDS AT HOME. 

and how patiently we beat every foot of wet 
ground in the marshes, and explored every 
muddy place the dry weather had left in the 
woods, or the damp spots of some low cornfield 
where the green leaves hung yet uncurled by 
drouth ! How we wondered where the woodcock 
had gone, and where lived the few that were left ! 
The mystery deepened love, and miles were 
nothing for one glimpse of that whistling wing. 

Yet very tame seemed all this beside the day 
when, after weeks of absence, the woodcock re- 
turned full-feathered from the molt. The song 
of the oriole had ceased in the woods; little 
creepers stole no more along the limbs, hunting 
for slugs on the green leaves; hushed was the 
sprightly twittering of the wren in the thicket ; 
and the mournful cooing of the dove was heard 
no more in the oak. The crimson of sumac and 
dogwood warmed the rich hues of the maples, 
and beside the yellowing beech the fox-grapes 
hung blue and fragrant among leaves of russet 
and gold. The red sun struggled down through 
smoky air, filling with dreamy softness the 
spangled hillsides and sapling-groves where the 
returning wanderer was to be welcomed from the 



THE WOODCOCK. 33 

North. Along the little stream where the water- 
cress was still green and the jewel-weed strug- 
gled yet for life, those fine holes bored in the 
mud by the long bill sent again that peculiar 
thrill through the soul. And when the pattering 
of the dog's feet ceased, and you found him 
standing rigid where the sunlight filtered through 
half-bare saplings, you felt repaid for your toil. 
But before you could get half-way to the dog, 
the brown would rise with sharper whistle of 
swifter wings than those of summer, and, dis- 
daining the fine course you had selected for its 
flight, wheel suddenly behind the russet leaves 
that still clung to a white-oak, through which 
your first barrel spouted vain smoke, and then 
as suddenly whirl around the golden crown of 
a chestnut before you could kindle the fire in 
your second barrel. And you felt glad though 
mad, happy though disappointed. 

In the West the woodcock is the same lovely 
and mysterious bird he is in the East, though he 
nowhere makes such autumn shooting as he once 
made on the Atlantic coast. In some places he 
vanishes for the season about the middle of 
August , in others, as on the upper Mississippi, 



34 GAME-BIRDS AT HOME. 

he stays through the molting period and is 
easily found, when so hard to find in the East. 
In the bottoms of most of the western rivers, 
especially the Illinois, woodcock were once very 
abundant. When the scarlet of the cardinal- 
flower began to blaze along the wet banks, and 
the little grass of Parnassus to uplift its creamy 
petals along the marshes, the whistling wing 
could be heard almost anywhere in the bottoms. 
Where the soft blue trumpets of the mimulus 
w^ere reflected in sluggish water he dodged away 
in a twinkling into the grove of willow that lined 
it ; from the deep shades of the thickets he 
flashed up into the canopy of green ; from the 
serried spears of cat-tails and rushes he sprung at 
midday as well as in the evening ; and even from 
the open edges of the ponds where the receding 
waters had stranded the bright blue spikes of the 
pickerel-weed he circled over the adjoining trees. 
But the best shooting, combining ease of travel 
with attractive surroundings and healthy air, was 
on the bottoms of the upper Mississippi before 
so much of the timber was cut away, and when 
the sloughs were clear instead of muddy and full 
of sawdust. When the canoe left the river, it 



THE WOODCOCK. 35 

entered a new world as the paddle sent it gliding 
among fallen trees, around sharp elbows, and 
through swirling eddies. Amid strange fragrance 
from a million flowers, amid the hum of bees, 
gay dragon-flies, and rattling locusts, we wound 
along banks covered with long grass. Under 
masses of green and white from climbing vines 
we paddled, under the weaving arms of giant elms 
and the storm-scarred limbs of aged cottonwoods 
still reaching skyward in defiance of time, by 
little open bays where towered the arrowy shafts 
of the wild rice, and blackbirds rose in roaring 
flocks, and the wood-duck with dolorous Wce-zvcc- 
ivee-wee sought safety in the air, while the little 
yellow brood went flapping to the reeds for 
shelter. All seemed so full of life : the broad 
head of the maple brightly pictured in the still 
water over which the canoe was gliding; the 
gray squirrel, with bushy tail outspread, taking 
his midday rest; the wild pigeon, like an arrow 
feathered with white and gray, hissing with speed 
through the openings ; dark shining turtles slip- 
ping with soft splash from the driftwood ; little 
nut-hatches stealing along the limbs above and 
reaching down to pick off slugs; and the king- 



36 GAME-BIRDS AT HOME. 

fisher springing his noisy rattle on the dead hmb 
or darting into the water. 

Woodcock were plenty here, for feeding- 
grounds were everywhere, while on much of the 
dry ridges was the best kind of cover. One 
place was almost as good as another. Where the 
deep blue of the lobelia was nodding over some 
damp shore, a bird was as apt to spring at midday 
as in the solemn shade of the swamp-maples and 
oaks, where grass could hardly struggle through 
the gloom. One might be in the long grass that 
around some fallen tree-top on the higher ground 
wound upward to the light through the garlands 
of white and green the wild cucumber wove over 
the dead limbs. And out from behind it he 
might skim low and wheel around the next tree 
so quickly that all you would know of the bird's 
presence would be the whistle of its wings. 

Often the rustling of the dog would cease 
before we had moored the boat, and we would 
find him but a few yards away, with nose pro- 
jecting from the reeds along some muddy shore. 
Where the red flowers of the knot-grass nodded 
over the snowy petals of the water-lily left by 
the receding water we might see, scarce a yard 



THE WOODCOCK. 37 

from the dog's nose, sitting on the mud, the bird 
we had come to find. Perhaps fresh mud was 
on his bill from the numerous small holes around 
him where he had been breakfasting late. His 
strangely-shaped head was drawn back until its 
rich colors blended with the rosewood hues of 
the back, and the deep, tender eye was quizzing 
us with sublime indifference to the dog. And 
when with spiral twist he whirled into the bank 
of leaves over our heads before we could turn 
around, and nothing but leaves and dead sticks 
responded to the fierce volley we opened upon 
him, we still felt glad we had not shot at him on 
the ground. 

Again, when we would miss the dog, we might 
find him only by the quivering tip of his tail pro- 
jecting from a thick mat of reeds beside some 
heavy timber into which the brown wings would 
fade in speed that left us no time to take aim, 
I Yet we followed the line with memory's eye, and 
fancied there was a gentle fall of something soft 
amid the leaves and twigs that followed the shot. 
And sometimes we found our dog in a dense 
clump of saplings, with one forefoot on a fallen 
log he was about to cross when he caught the 



38 GAME-BIRDS AT HOME. 

scent, and standing as solid as the log itself. 
Once with soft twitter a cock rose a few feet in 
air as we came up, and made so sudden a turn 
there was no time to fire. Not thirty feet from 
where it rose it alighted on the ground, and with 
drooping wings and tail erect strutted along for 
several yards like a turkey-gobbler, with the dog 
pacing solemnly behind it at a safe distance, sur- 
prised at this peculiar action, which is so rare that 
many sportsmen and many dogs have never seen 
it. 

Two or three hours on pleasant days would 
generally give one all the shooting a reasonable 
being should want. It grew better toward even- 
ing, and the homeward trip was ever a pleasure. 
The night-heron flapped his solemn way in the 
air above, and the deep Too-Jioo of the great 
owl resounded through the darkening green that 
lined the slough. The smooth surface of the 
river glimmered long after sunset, with crimson 
and gold reflected from the fleecy clouds above. 
Far up and down the Minnesota side the bluffs 
lay darkly blue, while on the V/isconsin side they 
held a long, lingering trace of pink as if unwilling 
to let go of day. Long pickerel shone as they 



THE WOODCOCK. 39 

threw themselves in air and sank with a splash 
into the water; night-hawks by the score pitched 
here and there over the water; bands of ducks 
went hissing by ; and from both shores rolled 
across the waters the rich but mournful voice of 
the whippoorwill. 

Woodcotk-shooting on these bottom-lands at 
high water is the very climax of shooting with 
the shot-gun. In most sections heavy rains or 
floods scatter woodcock and make them harder to 
find. But on the upper Mississippi it is the 
reverse, as the birds never go in numbers to any 
timber but that in the bottoms. When there is 
a heavy flood, about the time the birds are the 
most plenty and about four fifths of the bottoms 
are submerged, leaving the remainder a network 
of islands and peninsulas, among which you may 
paddle anywhere with a light boat, the birds are 
concentrated on the dry spots. Half the time 
the dog does not await the landing of the skiff, 
but with head reaching over the bow, and tip of 
tail quivering almost in your face, he stands rigid 
as you could wish before the keel scrapes the 
ground. Sometimes he springs but half-way out, 
stopping with fore legs in the water and hind legs 



40 GAME-BIRDS A 7' HOME.. 

in the boat ; and sometimes he springs from it, 
but stands anchored in his tracks where he 
strikes the water. And birds are often springing 
before he leaves the boat. 

Before you have firm anchorage for your feet 
three or four woodcock may spring from the grass 
and driftwood on the shore, and start on varied 
curves for as many points of the compass. When 
you reach the land you can hardly make the dog 
move ahead, and about the time you think him 
too cautious he comes to a sudden stop. Two 
brown twittering lines wheel right and left in 
front of him ; but when with extra quickness you 
send one to earth and the other to the water, and 
you think the dog ought to be proud of your 
work, he merely turns his nose, first to the right, 
then to the left, then to the right again. Before 
you can take a step ahead, or even load your 
gun, away whistles a cock on the right, another 
on the left, and another from in front, with two 
or three more curling out of some grass-covered 
drift ahead ; and, before you or the dog can reach 
either of the two that fell, half a dozen more are 
twisting in as many directions. And so you may 
go on from island to island, with the dog not 



THE woodcock: 41 

even walking, but merely crawling about and 
every few minutes stiffening into a point. 

The birds, however, are now wilder than usual, 
and seeing dozens by no means implies a shower 
of woodcock. Many rise far ahead of the dog, 
and before you can come within thirty yards of 
him. Many lie in the edge of the timber, and 
wheel away upward while you are inside, or curl 
around the outer edge. Some twist upward 
through the tree-tops and then spin away on a 
straight line ; some whisk away so near the 
ground, the brown line of their flight is hard to 
distinguish amid the grass and flowers; others 
bustle out of sight in a twinkling through some 
dense thicket ; while of others you see nothing 
and only hear the mellow whistle of their wing- 
feathers. 

Who could help missing under such circum- 
stances? Here goes a bird across an open space 
only twenty-five yards away. Clearly you see 
the rich brown robes, and the iron rib of the gun 
seems pointing just the right distance ahead of 
the long bill. How cool you feel, and what ex- 
pectation is crowded into one short moment ! 
You pull the trigger, and the brown whistles on 



42 GAME-BIRDS AT HOME. 

without wavering or shedding a feather. What 
wonder? What nerves would not flutter when a 
fresh bird bustles out of the grass as you start to 
pick up a fallen one and, killing the new one, see 
the dog point still another before he or you can 
reach either of the two that have fallen, and then 
have a couple more spring right and left before 
you can reach the dog? The finger will some- 
times betray one and pull the trigger, when the 
eye plainly sees the gun is not pointing right, 
and sometimes it will tremble and balk upon the 
trigger and disobey the will to pull at the right 
time. Often, when a quick shot is necessary, the 
gun fails to come to the right place when first 
raised ; there is no time to shift it, and it is too 
late to recall the order from the brain to the 
finger. And often when tossed up at a crossing 
bird it comes directly on the mark instead of 
ahead, and the temptation to pull the trigger 
without shifting the gun ahead is irresistible. 
And often the gun strikes an unseen branch, or, 
when wheeling suddenly with loaded pockets, one 
is thrown out of balance and cannot recover in 
time. These and a dozen other causes, above 
all that mysterious "bad spell" which often 



THE WOODCOCK. 43 

attacks the best shots, make it impossible for any 
one to shoot without many a miss. Thanks to 
human infirmity that it is so! Were shooting 
as easy as often pictured, the pleasure of the gun 
would be gone. 



III. 

THE RUFFED GROUSE. 

Who can forget the feelings with which he 
first heard the mysterious drum of the ruffed 
grouse throb through the bursting woods of 
spring, or later from the dark mountain-side 
where the soft pink and white of the rhododen- 
dron light up the dark jungle of its leaves, or 
where the leaves are falling through the haze of 
Indian Summer, or, as sometimes heard even in 
the noon of night, in the depths of the great 
forest ? And who ever failed to love him from 
the moment he first caught a glimpse of his 
fanlike tail as the graceful bird flashed amid a 
maze of crimson and gold, or pierced like a shaft 
of light the green tangle of the cat-brier swamp ? 
And who does not feel that he has lived when, 
after many vain shots, he sees the brown wings 
come whirling out of the leaves through which 

44 



THE RUFFED GROUSE. 45 

they were roaring at a speed that has no equal 
among birds of the woods? 

Every place this bird honors with its presence 
is attractive. Where, in the little glen from 
which the interlacing heads of the elm and the 
mapie have cut off the sunlight, racemes of little 
rosy flowers hang from the green leaves of the 
enchanter's nightshade, where the air is laden 
with the fragrance of crab-apple and wild plum 
mingled with soft sweetness from the berries of 
the viburnum, beneath the dark hemlock where 
the little red berries of the wintergreen shine in 
the gloom, or where the scarlet torch of the 
ginseng lights up the dim corridors of the forest, 
the sportsman loves ever to linger. 

Some unseen spirit captures the old dog, and 
his canter settles to a slow trot when he enters 
the ground where this grouse is likely to be. 
How impressive the patter of his feet on the 
dead leaves, and the occasional glimpse you catch 
of him slowly moving through the twigs ! And 
what a moment is that when you hear a fainter 
rustling and see him moving still more slowly, 
with more slowly-waving tail ! You know he 
must stop on the outer edge of the circle of cer- 



46 GAME-BIRDS AT HOME. 

tainty and not try to catch the scent too warm, 
or a roar of wings and distant flash of brown, 
too short to shoot at, will be all you see or hear. 
But right well an old dog knows his business, 
and you find him perhaps rigid beside a log or 
little brook he dares not cross. And then, how 
arc you to get a shot ? The maple is flaming 
beside the pale gold of the birch, and the bright 
red of the dogwood vies with the russet of the 
oak in barring the path of your vision. The 
scarlet of the cockspur-thorn yet robes its matted 
arms, and the yellow leaves of the aspen tremble 
on its white trunk. How in such a maze of 
color do you expect to catch that glimpse of 
white and brown that for an instant only will 
mark the path of a bird to which all thickets are 
as smooth a path as the blue of space to the 
sunbeam ? 

Before you come within twenty feet of your 
dog there is a heavy Bbbbbbbbhbbbbb some ten 
yards ahead of him, a whisk of brown, a scatter- 
ing of dry leaves beneath it. In a twinkling you 
drop on one knee and toss the gun to your 
shoulder. 

And is that all ? 



THE RUFFED GROUSE. 47 

Well, is not that worth coming to see ? One 
who does not feel that little toil repaid with even 
a glimpse of this royal game would not appreciate 
closer acquaintance. 

You are in heavier cover than is necessary now. 
When the autumn rains have tattered the drapery 
of these thickets you may see something long 
enough to shoot at it, but now you had better go 
where it is more open. Let us leave this heavy 
cover and cross this meadow where the bluejoint 
waves yet green and above the falling clover the 
tender purple of the calopogon nods. Where 
under arcades of alder the swift brook gurgles 
through grassy banks you shall find the groves 
of plum and thorn more open. 

Biib — biib — biib — bub — bubbubbubbubbbbbbbbbbb 
sounds already from the distant thicket, for here 
upon the upper Mississippi the ruffed grouse 
drums often in the warm days of fall, and its 
strange beat quickens your pace. 

Scarcely does the dog reach the outer edge of 
the thicket when he seems suddenly weary, his 
legs drag, and his tail becomes straighter. He 
pauses for a moment beneath the crimson of the 
sumac, and then with delicate sniffs of upraised 



48 GAME-BIRDS AT HOME. 

nose moves a few feet and comes to a full stop. 
There is a heavy Bbbbbbbhbbb in the thicket as 
you approach the dog, and a broad white breast 
with wide dashes of jet surrounded by a soft 
haze of brown wings in rapid stroke mounts into 
the sunlight above the thicket. Where a prettier 
mark than the outspread tail it turns to you as it 
wheels with its bands of brown and black and its 
tender shades of gray, steering the majestic bird 
on its swift-winding way ? And what a strange 
mixture of exultation and pride with regret you 
feel when out of a cloud of feathers it descends 
at the report of your gun to the spangled covert 
below ! 

But there is no time to indulge in feelings, for 
at the report of your gun out comes another 
roaring mark with little topknot erect on out- 
stretched head, black ruffs laid back, and aimed 
for the thicket you left but a moment ago. Plain 
open sailing ; and how confident you feel as you 
raise the gun ! Beware, beware ! Do you not 
see the white scales of the immortelles tremble, 
and even the purple corolla of the iron-weed bow 
in the breeze made by the resounding wings of 
the swift rover as it skims their tops ? Hold far 



THE RUFFED GROUSE. 49 

ahead, for all too deceptive is that graceful 
speed. 

At the sound of your first barrel a tail-feather 
comes whiffling down into the glowing top of a 
goldenrod, but only the faster does the grouse 
dash the sunshine from its obstreperous wing. 
BaiiggoQs the second barrel, aimed farther ahead, 
but not a plume of the outspread fan is folded, 
the graceful head seems only stretched out a 
little farther, the black ruffs glisten but the more. 
In a moment the whole is but a haze of brown 
above which two curving wings are suddenly set, 
while it plunges into the densest part of the 
thicket as easily as a meteor into the night. 

Few of those who love this bird have seen him 
before he has left his mother's side to roam alone 
the mountain's breast or the tangled glen. For 
his cradle is deep in the heart of summer's wealth, 
and few are the eyes that can follow him into the 
dark brake or the shaggy robe of the mountain 
until frosts have rent the gay canopy and scat- 
tered the fragments to the ground. But in the 
bluffs of the upper Mississippi this grouse was 
easily found in summer, especially after the 
coveys were big enough to fly, and they used 



50 GAME-BIRDS AT HOME. 

often to make fine shooting before any hues of 
death had touched the timber that studded the 
hills. These bluffs were about four hundred feet 
above the slope of the bottom-lands and benches 
at their feet, and not too steep for hunting. 
About half-way up their sides, and in the heads 
of the gulches that cut them in all directions, was 
the home of this grouse. Often he went to the 
top where a stubble bordered the timber at the 
head of a ravine: and many a time, in the cool 
evening of August or September, when we thought 
the dog was pointing the pinnated grouse for 
which we were hunting, a full-grown covey of 
the ruffed grouse has sprung on uproarious wing 
and vanished in the shade of the oaks and birches. 
On hot days it was not uncommon to find the 
pinnated grouse half-way down the bluffs, seeking 
the shade of their steep sides, and often the two 
kinds of grouse were so mixed that either might 
spring before the dog. Once in a while Bob 
White lent his charming company, and until the 
bird rose you could not tell on what the dog 
was pointing. In the oak openings on the bench- 
lands of the Wisconsin rivers this same mixture 



THE KUFFED GROUSE. 5 I 

might often be seen in September and even later, 
but nowhere else have I known it. 

My first hunt on these bluffs was in August, 
1867. From near the foot of the bluffs where 
the maple and oak saplings began to encroach 
upon the older timber of the hills to near the top 
where from its white staff the birch was flying its 
banner of brilliant green, two dogs were racing to 
and fro. We soon came to a ravine where the 
ferns and prairie-grass were ranker and the shade 
deeper. Jack, the elder dog, at once started up 
the leeward side of the ravine on a cautious trot. 
This soon subsided to a walk as he caught the 
breeze that played across the hollow. Quietly 
he moved along, hidden in the ferns' deep green 
except his upraised nose and the line of his back 
and tail. Through the golden wealth of the lady- 
slipper he kept slowly on until his legs began to 
stiffen and his tail to lose its oscillation. And as 
he stopped there was a burst of brown from the 
ferns some ten yards ahead of him. 

Bang, ivJiang, went my gun and my friend's 
gun almost together ; a feather parted from the 
outspread fan behind the boisterous wrings, and 
in a second more it had faded behind the trees. 



52 GAME-BIRDS AT HOME. 

Bbbbbb went another from almost the same 
place before the first bird was out of sight — only 
a trifle smaller, but quite as swift of wing. Bang 
went the second barrel of both guns exactly to- 
gether, and a cloud of feathers puffed from the 
bird which came whirling downward, while with 
huge hubbub seven or eight more birds rose 
curling, darting, and whizzing from the ferns in 
all directions. 

But Jack seemed to have little anxiety about 
the birds that had fallen, and after moving care- 
fully a few feet stopped again, with the other 
dog, named Frank, on the other side of the 
ravine watching him, with legs almost as firm, and 
tail but slightly waving. Right well Jack seemed 
to know that all the flock had not risen ; for it 
was a common trick in those days for part of the 
flock to trust to hiding even after the old one 
and most of the young ones had flown. Jack 
swung off a few feet to get in the direct line of 
the scent again, and then with nose high in air 
and body sunk in the grass he came to a stand- 
still. From the ferns some thirty feet ahead 
three grouse started in different directions. One 
had scarcely aired his wings when he went whirl- 



THE RUFFED GROUSE. 53 

ing into the green below; another cheinged his 
course at the report of another barrel and mounted 
skyward through the tree-tops ; the third seemed 
to leave a hole in space with another barrel flam- 
ing vainly into the empty hole ; while the bird 
that had mounted above the trees poised for a 
second on high, then closed his wings and de- 
scended with a heavy bump to earth. 

The fallen birds retrieved, we went to find the 
scattered members of the flock. Some three 
hundred yards we wandered through checkered 
shades when Frank began to dawdle in his pace. 
He sniffed inquiringly at the breeze that played 
along the hillside. To us it was laden only with 
the fragrance of ferns and clover, wild buckwheat 
and peas, with late wild-rose and mint, but the 
dog smelt something more, for suddenly he 
stopped, and at the same instant a bird broke the 
green cover some fifteen yards ahead of him. 
Two charges of shot shivered the tremulous green 
of the birch behind which it disappeared, the air 
throbbed no more beneath its wings, a nebula of 
fine feathers drifted into sight. 

Up and down the hill both dogs were again 
soon beating the ground. In about five minutes 



54 GAME-BIRDS AT HOME. 

Jack, coming down the hill on a gentle canter, 
dropped as suddenly as if shot and lay with only 
the tip of his nose above the grass. As we came 
up, a grouse started like a rocket from a yard 
ahead of him and whizzed upward as if bound for 
the stars. My friend's first barrel abbreviated 
the broad tail, and he caught the body with the 
second as, high among the branches of an aged 
oak, it was speeding its bobtailed career. As it 
fell another bustled out of almost the very spot 
from which the last one rose, and cleft the breeze 
so fast that the shot from my gun was held back 
by the air-waves from its rapid wings. (At least 
that was my theory then, and if good enough for 
me it is good enough for any reader. It doesn't 
do to be too particular about some things.) 

Some ten minutes passed, and we found Frank 
standing like a rock in the head of a ravine, with 
Jack some thirty yards away, indorsing with his 
most statuesque attitude Frank's draft on our 
confidence. The aspen was trembling above 
him, the ferns gently swaying in the breeze around 
his nose, the blackberries and raspberries were 
still bright on the bushes in the deep shade, but 
other sign of life was none. We threw in stones, 



THE RUFFED GROUSE. 55 

but nothing moved. Wc then tried to make one 
of the dogs flush the game, but neither would 
move an inch. At the risk of losing a shot I 
went in, for the ravine was steep-sided and deep. 
A few feet ahead of the dog I slipped and fell, 
and in a twinkling the air above seemed alive with 
spinning lines of white and whizzing belts of 
black and brown mixed in a whirl that made the 
air tremble even more than my companion's gun 
that was spouting fire over my head. I sprung 
to my feet too late to catch the fire of his second 
barrel in my ear, but just in time to see two 
grouse vanishing through two distant openings 
in the heavy foliage. Both were almost out of 
shot, and to catch either at the speed it was going 
called for marvelous quickness. How I unloaded 
a barrel of my gun at each before I had fairly 
caught my feet is a question on which I have 
ever remained in blissful ignorance. And you, 
dear reader, must remain in blissful ignorance of 
the results, for as a matter of pure business I can- 
not afford to imperil my reputation for veracity 
by telling you. 

The grouse were soon so scattered that we 
went in search of a new flock, which was then 



56 GAME-BIRDS AT HOME. 

cheaper than hunting birds too widely dispersed. 
So we moved along several hundred yards and 
came to a little valley. Near its head the oaks 
stood larger and closer than before, the ferns 
were longer, brighter, and greener, the birches 
taller and thicker, and so were the maples and 
aspens that were crowding them aside. A soft 
flavor of wild honey and thyme with dittany and 
mint breathed through the cool shades, and every- 
thing seemed to hint strongly of ruffed grouse. 
So strongly did the spirit of the place whisper 
'•'■ grouse " that Jack was on a half-point from the 
start, just as many a good old dog changes his 
pace the instant he enters a damp dark swamp 
where everything breathes the magic word 
"woodcock." And even Frank seemed en- 
thralled by the deep shade and threaded the 
bowers of birch and beds of fern with more than 
usual care. 

But vainly the dogs sneaked and sniffed here 
and there. The birds seemed playing the trick 
of all game in ignoring the fine places you select 
for it, and preferring to make its own selection. 
Lower down the little valley were thickets of 
crab-apple and wild plum with hazel, viburnum, 



THE RUFFED GROUSE. 57 

and hawthorn ; and knowing the grouse range 
low as well as high along these hills, we went 
there. In the dense green the dogs soon dis- 
appeared ; nothing but the light rustling of their 
feet remained, and in a few minutes even that 
ceased. 

Leaving my friend on the outside where he 
would be apt to get a shot I went inside the 
thicket. There was one dog with tail and nose 
nearly parallel, as he had thrown himself into the 
shape of a bow with sudden whirl, and the other 
stood a few yards behind with the solemnity 
of a tombstone on a winter night. Before I 
could reach the foremost dog there was a be- 
wildering racket of wings, and a dozen big birds 
went darkling through the green or wheeling out 
of the top. Quickly as I had killed the last two 
birds — confound it ! I didn t mean to let that 
out — well, that quickly I dropped on one knee 
and sent a charge of shot through the leaves 
where a fanlike tail was vanishing on a sharp 
curve. The mainspring must have been tired 
with the last effort, for the hammer was slow in 
falling and the shot rather slow about reaching 
the game. But dimly through an opening I 



58 GAME-BIRDS AT HOME. 

could sec my friend on the hillside with half a 
dozen grouse driving swiftly toward him. One 
shot past him like an arrow feathered Avith white 
and brown, gone before he could raise his gun ; 
another at the report of his first barrel went spin- 
ning by with unruffled feather, with the rest roar- 
ing beside him and over him, while he stood 
shifting his gun from one to the other, and finally 
emptied it with great success into a patch of sun- 
shine among the trees after it had closed over 
the last wide-spread tail. 

Probably the deepest love one acquires for this 
bird is in threading the depths of the forest in 
still-hunting. A more charming companion than 
the grouse there makes it is hard to find. On 
the warm still days of autumn, when you have to 
move w^ith great caution on account of the dry 
leaves and twigs making so much noise to alarm 
deer, this lovely bird is often around you from 
morning till night. If careful you may often see 
him, mounted on a log or low limb or even on 
the ground, beat that mysterious drum that sends 
so strange a thrill through the sportsman, and 
makes so many wonder how it is done. And 
when at dawn you thread the long colonnades of 



THE RUFFED GROUSE. 59 

gray trunks before even the squirrel comes out 
to play, or the bluejay tunes his jingling pipe, or 
the dark form of the raven wheels above the 
trees, the grouse may spread his tail along your 
path and scatter the dry leaves beneath his re- 
verberating wings. Where the wild cherry and 
choke-berry line the little boggy flat, where the 
cubs have rolled down the ferns, and the old 
mother bear has turned over the fallen log for 
grubs, you may see your friend mount on defiant 
wing and wind swiftly out of sight among the 
dense wealth of basswoods and maples. Often 
when you are sitting on the sunny side of some 
fallen log where the spikenard spreads its broad 
umbels of spicy black berries, or watching for 
some imaginary buck beside some runway where 
the trailing arbutus keeps the ground green with 
its ever-bright leaves, the grouse may come walk- 
ing beside you, in all the majesty of its pure 
innocence, if you keep perfectly still. 

Dull seem the woods without this happy soul. 
When dank and sodden from the storm, and a 
cheerless wind sighs through the boughs, the 
scores of grouse that on the last warm day so 
enlivened the forest are suddenly gone, and very 



6o GAME-BIRDS AT HOME. 

lonely are the woods. And when the witch- 
hazel's curious petals of gold have closed the 
floral procession of the year, and the scarlet head 
of the mountain ash is turning pale, when the 
crimson and white of the woodpecker flash no 
more in wavy flight, and the barking of the 
squirrel is seldom heard, then this bird yet re- 
mains the still-hunter's companion. And after 
the w^oods are robed in purest white, and the 
bushy-footed hare has turned his coat to suit 
the fashion, when trees snap with frost, and the 
porcupine, rolled in a fuzzy ball, rides out the 
storm in the top of some giant elm, the grouse 
is still there, though you may see him only as he 
bursts from the snow almost beneath your feet 
and, dashing the glittering flakes from resounding 
wang, mounts gayly into the sunshine on his way 
to some distant tree-top. 



IV. 



THE PINNATED GROUSE. 

No bird ever lent greater charm to its surround- 
ings than the pinnated grouse to the prairie. He 
has been to it more than Bob White to the frosty 
stubble, or the woodcock to the tangled brake. 
Without him it is no more the prairie, but only 
a dismal waste. No sound ever wakes more 
tender feelings than the far-reaching ^^Woo — woo 
— 2i;oo — woo — woo'* swelHug from the distant 
knoll before the soft blue of the liverwort beams 
beside the fading snow-bank in the timber, or 
the clatonia lights the darkness of the burnt 
prairie. No bird has so thrilled the novice as 
the full-grown grouse roaring out of the grass 
almost at his feet, or caused him such infinite 
amazement when in sublime confidence he pulled 
the trigger. And when the ducks have left the 
frozen slough, the quail gone to the bottoms, 

6i 



62 GAME-BIKDS AT HOME. 

the sand-hill crane no longer dots the plain, and 
the Hoiik of the goose has died away in the 
south, then the grouse is about the only com- 
panion left the dweller on the prairie. Whether 
sweeping in large flocks across the plain, now 
on sailing pinions, now with wavering stroke of 
wing, or on frosty mornings sitting quietly upon 
the fence, or in colder weather studding the bare 
branches of the timber, this bird is ever the 
brightest light of the great solitude. Our chil- 
dren's children may yet hear the mellow twitter 
of the woodcock's wing as he whirls upward 
through the somber shade, over the harvest-field 
may hear the flutelike call of Bob White, and in 
the darksome brake yet see the ruffed grouse 
spread his banded tail ; but few shall see the 
pinnated grouse, except as rare specimens. For 
it is a bird that increases with the first stage of 
civilization, pauses at the second, and fades for- 
ever with the third. 

Many have seen the pinnated grouse only 
where immense cornfields or long slough-grass 
make the hunting difficult, where the weather is 
intensely hot with no shade heavier than that of a 
rosin- weed. Many have hunted them only when 



THE PINNATED GROUSE. 63 

the young were too small. But in September, 
when the young can hardly be told from the old 
ones, a hunt on the breezy hills of the upper 
Mississippi — once covered with parks of oak, 
open enough for comfortable driving with a 
wagon, yet dense enough for good shade — was 
something vastly different. 

"Prince smells something already," said the 
Squire, as the dog rose in the wagon and, extend- 
ing head and neck over the wheel, began to sniff 
the breeze with upraised nose, while his tail 
swayed with gentle motion. 

We had come up one of the long ravines that 
lead from the bottom-lands of the upper Missis- 
sippi to the prairie nearly five hundred feet above, 
and had reached what is really the level of Min- 
nesota, instead of the top of a sharp ridge as the 
edge of the prairie appears from the river. As 
the wagon stopped, the dog sprung to the ground 
without awaiting orders. For a moment he 
paused, then on a slow walk went a hundred 
yards or so along a gentle swell, then broke into 
a trot and from that into a gallop, crossing at 
right angles the line of his former course as if the 
scent had become weakened and he was trying 



64 GAME-BIRDS AT HOME. 

to catch it again in full intensity. Suddenly he 
wheeled half about and stopped a moment, with 
a slight motion of his tail, then as suddenly 
started off on a walk, but more cautiously than 
before. 

As we tied the horses to a tree two other 
wagons belonging to the party drove up, contain- 
ing some ladies and two tyros. Another dog 
was let loose, and in a moment more he was pa- 
cing solemnly along in the rear of Prince, and 
looking about as wise. 

Where deep-toned pink from the belated 
prairie-rose nodded over green beds of fern the 
dogs slowly crawled, and soon came to a halt a 
few feet from a fallen tree-top. From the trail- 
ing clusters with which the wild pea had fes- 
tooned the dead branches Bob White and his 
wife with a dozen little ones rose in chirping and 
twittering lines of gray and brown, curling away 
in all directions. Then over another swell the 
dogs snaked their way through waving prairie- 
grass dotted with golden moccasin-flowers. On 
top of this swell Prince paused as if to survey 
the landscape. Toward the west rolled a mighty 
undulation of velvet green cut with ravines 



THE PINNATED GROUSE. 65 

nearly five hundred feet deep, some darkly blue 
with deep shade, others filled with luminous 
haze. With an air of profound wisdom, as if he 
had taken the gauge of the whole situation, Prince 
looked around at the party, then down the slope 
into a swale where the white-fringed corolla of 
the silene and the red lips of the snapdragon 
kissed amid waving sunflowers, he went almost 
out of sight, with the other dog following. Up 
another slope he went with slower and slower 
step among the tender blue of wild flax, and on 
the top of the next ridge paused again to survey 
the world. Along the hills the shining leaves of 
the white birch were trembling on its white staff, 
black oaks stood massed in ranks of green in the 
heads of the gulches, on the points of the ridges 
crags of sandstone like old-time castles hung over 
the valleys, and miles away across the great bot- 
tom of the Mississippi the Wisconsin bluffs lay 
softly green in the clear air, with golden stubbles 
creeping up their sides or gleaming amid the 
timber that fringed their tops. But there was 
no sign or sound of the game we had come for, 
only the jingling notes of the jay as his blue 
finery flashed among the deep green above us, 



66 GAME-BIRDS AT HOME. 

the sleepy bark of the gray squirrel stretched on 
some big limb, the red and white of the wood- 
pecker as he rose and dipped in wavy flight, or 
lines of bluish gray where wild pigeons shot 
through the openings. Prince seemed to think 
there was something, though by the intent gaze 
he kept upon the landscape at large he showed 
himself uncertain of the exact location of it. 
After inspecting the scene a few moments with 
slowly-waving tail, he licked his chaps with an 
air of great satisfaction and moved slowly on. 
Then he swung off to the right a bit and then to 
the left with nose high upraised, then came to a 
sudden stop and set his tail and upraised foreleg 
as if never to be moved again. Behind him a 
few paces stood the other dog, equally motionless 
and showing by his wild stare that he smelt the 
game himself. 

Game was so plenty in the early days of Min- 
nesota that courtesy was cheap. It was also 
more fun to see a tyro perform than to shoot a 
bird yourself, especially when it was apt to be 
the old bird which no one wanted. So the two 
strangers, neither of whom had ever seen a 
"chicken" or seen a dog point, were told to go 



rilE PINNATED GROUSE. 6/ 

ahead and take first shot and by all means to 
keep cool. The last advice was given to upset 
their nerves. 

To the dog they went with trembling hands, 
one alternately scratching his nose and adjusting 
his hat, the other trying to walk and hold the 
butt of the gun to his shoulder, to be ready. But 
nothing rose, and ahead of the dog they went, 
tyro number one raising his gun to his shoulder 
also, so as not to be left in the lurch by the 
superior quickness of number two. Five paces 
ahead of the dog they walked, but nothing moved 
and the dogs remained like statues. Number 
two had to take down his gun to scratch his eye 
and adjust his collar, while the other had to but- 
ton his coat so as to get the tails out of the way 
of action, and try both hammers of his gun to be 
sure they were cocked. 

Bbbbbbbbbbbbbbbb sprung a whirl of brown and 
gray from the tangle of fern and grass, almost 
at the feet of one of the strangers. It seemed 
as easy to hit as an elephant tumbling up hill, 
and with great apparent calmness he pointed 
the gun full at the middle of the bird's back. 
The bird was almost suffocated in a vile eruption 



68 GAME-BIRDS AT HOME. 

of cheap powder, but out of the smoke it came 
with unruffled feather. The amazement of the 
shooter was equaled only by that of his comrade, 
who attempted a second later to show him how 
such things should be done. The purple head of 
a petalostemon bowed beneath his fire, but the 
bird mounted the air above it with throbbing 
wing that seemed all the stronger. Bang went 
the second barrel of number one, tunneling the 
smoke as the second barrel of number two 
poured destruction into the heart of a flourishing 
caterpillar's nest on a scrub-oak which the in- 
tended victim had just passed. 

All this in about three seconds. Yet before 
this short time passed a Ktik-ktik-kiik-kuk-kuk-kiik 
sounded amid the tempest of flame as two more 
birds, only a trifle smaller than the first, but with 
beat of wing quite as heavy, broke cover almost 
beneath the dogs' noses, followed by two more 
about the time they were fairly under way. As 
two guns in the rear of the party rang out, the 
first two birds that rose together went whirling 
out of a cloud of feathers ; and into the ferns 
from which they rose the second two sank at the 
report of two more barrels, while the first one 



THE PINNATED GROUSE. 69 

that rose, the old mother of the covey, went 
sailing away over a ravine, unshot at. As the 
second pair of birds turned over in air, another 
grouse rose from almost the same place as the 
last one, followed by three more before it had 
fairly cleared the grass. And two of these 
wilted in mid-air as two more guns flamed in the 
rear, while the other two birds with triumphant 
beat of wing went away unscathed amid the up- 
roar of two more barrels. 

Motionless and serene Prince stood amid the 
racket, for that mysterious power of a dog's nose 
that tells him whether all the birds have risen 
told him that some yet remained hidden in the 
spangled covert before him. And it was but a 
moment more when Kiik-kiik-kitk-kuk went an- 
other from a few feet before him, mounted the 
sunlight in a curve of whizzing gray, sailed away 
through the open timber, and settled on a ridge 
, some three hundred yards away. 

Yet Prince and Doc, the dog behind him, 
stood like statues, and away flew another grouse 
unshot at ; for every gun was now empty, with its 
owner straining every nerve to get it loaded. 
With the muzzle-loader has gone an interesting 



70 GAME-BIRDS AT HOME. 

feature of the field ; for he who has never stood 
hastening to load one with a bird or two rising 
at each stroke of the ramrod, and got the first 
cap on just as the last bird was comfortably out 
of reach, has missed a peculiar phase of existence. 
By the time the first gun was ready seven more 
birds had risen in front of the dogs and settled 
in the grass two or three hundred yards away. 
Then Prince relaxed his rigid limbs and, after 
two or three sniffs at the place from which the 
birds had risen, went to find the fallen ones. 

Not more than once or twice had the dogs 
quartered the ground where the birds alighted 
that had escaped, when Doc wheeled suddenly 
and crouched low. In the gold bloom of the 
moneywort the tip of his tail trembled with 
his efforts to hold it still, while his head and 
nose were almost lost in a dense mat of fern and 
grass. Prince, coming down the slope to investi- 
gate — for he had no confidence in other dogs, and 
never '' backed " anything but his own nose — 
stopped about half-way and dropped almost flat 
upon the ground, with glistening eyes turned 
toward a bunch of grass. 

A greenhorn was nov; detailed to each dog, 



THE PINNATED GROUSE. J I 

with instructions to keep very cool and be sure 
not to fire before he was ready. One stepped 
ahead of Prince ; yet nothing moved but the dog, 
and he moved only half a step and stared more 
wildly than ever into the grass. The tenderfoot, 
after scratching one ear, setting back his hat, 
buttoning his coat, feeling of the gun-hammers, 
clearing his right eye, and easing the tension of 
his collar, took another step ahead of the dog. 
Yet again nothing moved but the dog, and he 
moved two steps ahead and stood over a clump of 
bluejoint, looking dov/n into it with quivering 
tail. The tenderfoot pulled up one sleeve of his 
coat and shook a reef out of the other so as to 
have his arms free for action, and, giving another 
rub to his nose and another wipe at his eye, 
pushed the grass aside with his foot. Out 
hustled a big grouse almost from between the 
fore legs of the dog. Prince could not resist the 
temptation to snap at it, with the usual result of 
being just three and a half inches too far behind. 
At the sound of its wings another bird rose a few 
feet farther on, followed by the one that Doc 
was pointing. In the immediate rear of the first 
bird tenderfoot number one exploded a mine of 



*J1 GAME-BIRDS AT HOME. 

country-store powder, but the game being ahead 
of it escaped asphyxiation, while number two got 
in his fire a Httle farther ahead of another bird, 
which succumbed at once. 

Again the dogs careered for a few minutes 
among the lavender of the panicled aster that 
was waving in the cool breeze, startling the prai- 
rie song-sparrow that on the purple head of the 
iron-weed was still singing his summer song, and 
almost before we knew it each dog had stopped 
firm as a rock by a bunch of ferns. Again the 
greenhorns were sent ahead to take first shot, 
and the one who had made the last successful 
shot stepped smiling up to Prince. From a 
maze of purple and gold, where the golden-rod 
and cone-flower were springing to keep up the 
procession of blossoms that illumine these prai- 
ries so much of the year, burst a haze of gray 
and brown so big it seemed impossible to miss. 
At less than ten feet the first barrel of the tender- 
foot roared into the very middle, as it seemed, of 
the brown cloud. But the bird was headed for 
the strong western breeze, which it was already 
splitting so fast that the pot-metaled gun could 
not reach it, and on it went with the second bar- 



THE PINNATED GROUSE. 73 

rel of number one and the first barrel of number 
two bellowing in its rear, along with another gun 
or two from behind : and down it came. Each 
one of the tenderfeet swore he killed it, and as 
no one but the other tenderfoot disputed it both 
were happy. 

A combined picnic and hunting-party is gen- 
erally a heartless hoax. But years ago on these 
grounds such things were a great success and 
very common. Game enough for lunch and for 
the whole party to divide in the evening, with a 
goodly share to each, was an absolute certainty ; 
and as a wagon could be driven anywhere over 
the bluffs, the amount of work was trifling. As 
we had birds enough for lunch, we stopped shoot- 
ing for the middle of the day, as we could begin 
again at four o'clock with a certainty of enough 
birds to take home. 

Under a large oak that overlooked the broad 
valley of the Mississippi we sat down to rest. 
On every side the deep ravines that furrowed 
these bluffs when the great glacier of the North 
relaxed its grip were still robed in the hues of 
summer, the whole a couch of green velvet on 
which peace lay sleeping. At the bottom of a 



74 GAME-BIRDS A T HOME. 

deep valley the waters of the Zumbro wound 
their swift way to the Mississippi through hills 
blue with soft intensity of shade, or golden with 
the brightness of the sunlight that slept upon 
them, while the rosy haze poured into the deeper 
valley, cast a dreamy air over the green thickets 
that bowed to their shadows in the clear river. 
Here rolled the stream in shining curves through 
groves of sycamore, maple, and willow, and there 
it was joined by a silvery thread that shimmered 
through meadows deeply green with blue-joint 
and flag, spangled with the gold of the autumn 
dandelion, and tempered with the tender purple 
of the Arethusa. Still another brook glistened 
through groves of wild plum, crab-apple, and 
hawthorn, and thickets of bright hazel and dark 
green viburnum, from which we could faintly 
hear the drum of the ruffed grouse, and then 
it was lost under arcades of alder, and willow 
in whose shades fancy could almost see the flash 
of the trout. Miles away in the south, shining 
as a meteor's trail, the Mississippi vanished in a 
haze of green and gold where the timber and 
stubbles on its bluffs blended in the dancing 
heat on the horizon. There, too, peace lay 



THE PINNATED GROUSE, 75 

sleeping, and on the timbered islands that di- 
vided its winding path, and on the broad belts 
of timber beside its course, dotted with many a 
glimmering lake. And even on the great gleam- 
ing bars of sand peace gently brooded, and in 
the curves of deep shade where the mighty 
stream swept close to the gigantic cottonwoods 
along the shore. Rafts of lumber covering acres 
of space, and the steamer trailing her sooty ban- 
ner against the sky, were about the only signs of 
man that marred the fair scene. 

Where the white gentian of the prairie was 
smiling beside the soft purple of the sabbatia, and 
the air was redolent of basil and thyme, amid the 
hum of the wild bee and the whistle of the wings 
of the dove as he shot through the air above us, 
a cloth was spread, and on it a lunch fit for the 
gods. Then after two hours of eating, smoking, 
dozing, and swapping of hunter's truths, we 
started, in the cool of the afternoon, for birds to 
take home. 

Not many hundred yards had we gone when 
Doc suddenly stopped and pointed long enough 
to empty the wagon of every man that had a gun. 
Then off he went on a half-trot which quickly 



76 GAME-BIRDS AT HOME. 

settled to a walk, the walk to a crawl, and the 
crawl to a firm point. Ten, twenty, almost forty 
yards we walked ahead of him without anything 
moving, yet he refused to budge. Just as some 
one intimated that he was fibbing, an old hen- 
grouse burst from almost beneath the feet of one 
of the novices. Two full-grown young ones 
followed with a Kiik-kiik-kuk-knk-k2ik on the 
right, two more on the left, then two or three 
in front, and then two or three more on each side. 

No such thing as first shot for any one, then ! 
Courtesy was whistled down the wind and guns 
spouted fire overhead, across noses and alongside 
of ears ; for at this time of the day love of nature 
is liable to be tempered with considerations of the 
larder. In about seven seconds seven grouse lay 
in a semicircle, while five or six more vanished 
over a rise beyond, as Doc came trotting up with 
wagging tail and looking the most satisfied of the 
party. 

As we went to find the birds that had escaped 
this last cannonade we discovered Prince some 
four hundred yards away, on the edge of the 
prairie-grass and motionless as the Sphinx, gazing 
vacantly out upon a stubble. As we came up 



THE PINNATED GROUSE. 77 

he moved slowly ahead, stopping every few feet 
and sniffing delicately at the breeze now coming 
cool and fresh and carrying scent a long way. 
More than half across a forty-acre stubble he led 
us, and then refused to go farther. Full forty 
yards ahead of him we went, when a big grouse 
bustled out of the stubble and skimmed away 
unshot at. 

*'An old cock," said some one, as nothing 
more rose. But Prince still kept his point, and 
just as we began to doubt him two young grouse 
rose from near the center of the party and in 
front of one of the strangers, who was looking 
down at the very spot from which they rose. 
He singed the tail-feathers of one with his first, 
and my ear still rings from the report of his 
second barrel. At the reports more birds 
bounced out all around, some even behind us, on 
which some of the party must almost have trod- 
den, and for a few seconds confusion reigned 
supreme. 



V. 



THE SHARP-TAILED GROUSE. 

Swift little streams, pure as the drip from an 
iceberg, sunk in banks of tangled grass, from the 
depths of which the gleam of the darting trout 
wakes precious memories, wind among alders 
interlacing into arcades above them, and through 
groves of plum, viburnum, and hazel from which 
sounds the occasional drumming of the ruffed 
grouse. On each side open prairie rolls in grass 
and ferns, starred with the gold of the lady- 
slipper, toned down with the soft pink of the 
phlox and the blue of the lupin. Rising from 
this are long swells dotted with oaks that stand 
like trees in some ancient apple-orchard. Brightly 
green the white birch nods up on the scene from 
the surrounding ridges, and miles away the eye 
can sweep to where the maple and aspen rise in 
tier upon tier along the sides of the higher bluffs. 

78 



THE SHARP-TAILED GROUSE, 79 

Mile after mile of prairie stretches away upon 
their backs, and around their feet lie pockets and 
benches of smooth land on which oak openings 
stretch their orchardlike expanse ; the whole so 
suggestive of grouse, quail, deer, squirrels, and 
hares, with elk, antelope, buffalo, and bears, that 
one can hardly wait for daylight. Where do 
you find such a combination as this? Nowhere 
now, I fear; but time was when the western part 
of Wisconsin could in places show the prettiest 
combination of prairie and meadow with upland, 
bluff and brooks, timber, game and fish, the 
Creator ever made. 

The rose-blossom business has spoiled it, but 
it is not many years since much of it lay in all 
its native beauty; and though the elk and the 
antelope had gone with the buffalo to where the 
white man was scarcer, the other wild tenants of 
the hills and dales were about as plenty as ever. 

In the early days of Minnesota the sharp-tailed 
grouse was the prevailing variety, giving place, as 
the country was settled, to the pinnated grouse ; 
but in the eastern part of Buffalo County, Wis- 
consin, the sharp-tail remained in abundance 
long after settlement had reached the stage that 



8o GAME-BIRDS AT HOME. 

had driven it from Minnesota. It became much 
wilder than the common grouse, however, and 
when the coveys were packing into large flocks 
there was a period of two or three weeks before 
they became too wild to lie to a dog, when it 
taxed all the skill of both dog and master to 
secure a shot before the snowy tails were out 
of reach. There were times when we sighed for 
something more difficult than the pinnated 
grouse-shooting of Minnesota, though that was 
hard enough at times. When we sighed we 
generally made a trip to this part of Wisconsin, 
and our prayers for something wild and swift 
were always fondly answered. 

Gayly the dog raced over the prairie and, fresh 
from a bath in the singing brook against the 
breeze of a cool September morning, dove through 
grass and ferns and cantered over the swells. 
He knew the game right well, and, at a pace that 
would have astonished an eastern dog-trainer, 
scattered the lavender rays of the aster and 
bounded over the purpling boneset. Half a 
mile ahead, and as far on each side of our course, 
he galloped over the prairie, when, on a long 
beat, he suddenly wheeled and dropped flat, as a 



THE SHARP-TAILED GROUSE bl 

big bird rose from the grass thirty yards on one 
side and vanished over the next swell. But no 
dog moved, and we could see the top of his head 
above the grass, and the outline of the nose 
pointed toward the place from which the bird 
had risen. 

As we came beside him he looked at us with 
wistful glance, then licked his chaps and stared 
ahead, vacantly but earnestly. We moved a 
little ahead of him, but he declined to rise, and 
there was no change on his countenance except 
an air of deeper certainty. With sudden roar a 
huddle of light-brown backs and snowy under- 
wear burst from the ferns thirty yards ahead, 
aimed for Minnesota, and went upward and 
onward at a rate of speed surpassed only by the 
ruffed grouse, and not very much by him. There 
was not a twinkling to be lost, and both guns 
cracked together. The bird in front of my 
companion's gun went down in a flutter of white. 
As the reader has lived twenty-five years with- 
out knowing what became of the one the writer 
shot at, it is possible he may survive the rest of 
his allotted time in the bliss of equal ignorance. 

Bbbbbbbbbbbbbbb went a dozen more before the 



82 GAME-BIRDS AT HOME. 

fallen one had reached the ground. Again two 
barrels barked almost together, and two big birds 
went whirling over; for we shot very good guns 
then, even if they were muzzle-loaders, and fed 
them all they could stagger under, as no close or 
easy shots could be expected with these birds so 
late in the season. Before the two stricken ones 
had fallen with heavy bump into the grass, 
twenty or thirty more birds rose with a vast 
flutter of white feathers and, massing up like a 
charge of grape, shot away over the prairie on 
the course taken by the other birds that had 
risen. Three hundred yards they went; set 
their wings and rode swiftly down the breeze, as 
if to alight ; then suddenly with rapid stroke 
they rose again, then skimmed low along the 
horizon, then changed to quick beat of wing 
that carried them up a little, then with whiffling 
stroke of wing sped on again until nearly a mile 
away they sailed with majestic sweep over a low 
ridge. 

A mile was nothing to walk for another shot 
at such game, and we soon reached the crest of 
the ridge over which the birds had disappeared. 
Spreading away on the other side was a long 



THE SHARP-TAILED GROUSE. 83 

slope of heavy prairie-grass mixed with ferns and 
flowers, making the best of cover to induce the 
birds to He. Even as we looked upon it the 
slow swing of the dog's tail ceased and his eyes 
began to look serious. He raised his head and 
smelt the air with deep satisfaction. Then look- 
ing around at us for an instant, he started on at 
a slow pace. A hundred yards he went, with 
tail becoming slower and slower in its oscillation 
and legs more and more draggy. Another fifty 
yards he went, then stood for a moment with 
nose upraised to the cool western breeze. Ex- 
pecting the birds to lie close after such a long 
flight and in such long cover, we moved up to 
the dog. But all was silent except great sheets 
of wild pigeons, from the vast roost on the Chip- 
pewa bottoms, that made the air hiss as they 
darkened the sky above us. After standing a 
moment the dog broke his point, went slowly 
ahead for another hundred yards, and there he 
gradually settled to a point more rigid than the 
last, with certainty in every wrinkle of his nose. 
We went to where we thought the birds were 
hidden, but nothing moved. Had it been two 
weeks earlier they might have been lying in the 



84 GAME-BIRDS AT HOME. 

grass at our feet, with feathers tightly pressed, 
light brown heads drawn in, and beadlike eyes 
fixed upon us, yet so closely hidden that no 
mortal could see them though looking directly 
down upon them. Now they might be fifty 
yards away ; but they were somewhere near, for 
the firm mouth of the dog and his wildly-staring 
eye showed he was not mistaken. So on we 
moved, with guns ready for the quickest 
work. 

Twenty yards ahead of the dog we went when, 
thirty yards beyond us and on no feebly-flutter- 
ing wing, but more like the start of a rocket, a 
big bird bounced out of the grass, and, as we 
threw our guns to our shoulders, two more 
grouse burst from near the same place. Flame 
leaped at the path of the first bird, but on he 
went at redoubled speed ; flame followed flame, 
and the whizzing line of white plunged wabbling 
to the grass. The nether garments of another 
bird sent out a puff of white at the report of 
another barrel, but the owner sped on as if the 
lighter for their loss. A third, mounting high 
on exultant wing and well out of ordinary range, 
turned over at the crack of another barrel and 



THE SHARP-TAILED GROUSE. 85 

fell with a bump into the grass, while the first 
one, gliding far across the prairie with wondrous 
speed, suddenly rose in air and, setting both 
wings, slid down the wind, stone-dead. 

The dog moved not a muscle. Right well 
we knew what that meant, and hastened to re- 
load. But before the guns were half loaded 
Bbbbbbbbbbbbbbbb went three more grouse, like 
snowballs from a cannon, out of sight over the 
next swell; and, just as we got the caps half on, 
more burst with obstreperous wing from about 
the same spot and went like happiness away. 
And still the dog, gently sniffing the cool, 
strong breeze, stood like a rock. 

Just as we concluded there must be more 
lying near the same place, a dozen with tumult- 
uous uproar broke from the cover, some curling 
around on the side, some spinning straight away, 
all rising and all going, O how swiftly ! while 
the guns belched lurid lightning amid the white 
birches and aspens. 

What? Did we get any? Send stamp for my 
companion's address. Perhaps he will tell you. 

And still the dog did not move. He merely 
turned his nose a little on one side while we 



86 GAME-BIRDS AT HOME. 

hammered the loads into the guns as fast as 
gravity would allow us to raise the ramrods. 

Bbbbbbb — bang went a bird and a gun almost 
together, and Bbbbbbbbb went half a dozen more 
as the first one fell into the grass. Bang-k-bang 
went three more shots, and two birds sank like 
lead, while four with uproarious wing and invio- 
late raiment rent the rising breeze, and before 
our empty guns three more rose and hastened 
on to keep them company. 

And now the dog broke his point. That 
mysterious power that tells a dog the difference 
between the scent of a live bird and a dead one 
is nothing to the delicacy that tells him at once 
when all the hidden birds have risen, though 
scent must certainly remain in the grass a minute 
or two. But up he came at once, on a slow trot 
that showed he knew what he was about, and 
straight he went for the dead ones. 

The fallen birds retrieved, the dog went can- 
tering gayly toward the place where the scat- 
tered birds had gone, for it paid to follow them 
a long way, and on their track was as good a 
place as any other to find a new flock. Here 
he suddenly wheeled, marched a few paces up 



THE SHARP-TAILED GROUSE. '^'J 

wind with high-raised nose and inquiring sniff 
of the breeze, then, suddenly giving it up, gal 
loped on again. He had gone scarcely three 
hundred yards beyond the place where the last 
bird rose, when he suddenly slackened speed and, 
like a cat sneaking for the best position from 
which to spring, he swung around to the full 
play of the breeze, then, crouching low, crept a 
few paces ahead and settled to a statuesque 
position. 

As we went to him there was a roar and a 
flash of white some sixty yards ahead, but both 
guns thundered and the white fell into the ferns 
before it had fairly cleared the nodding gold of 
the sunflowers. Before we could exchange con- 
gratulations there was another burst of white 
ten yards beyond the last, another simultaneous 
roar of two barrels, another whirl of white and 
brown into the ferns. I do not guarantee these 
distances, because in these days, when so many 
busybodies are measuring everything instead of 
guessing in the good old way, it doesn't take as 
many yards to make a long shot as it used to. 
Each one declaring that the other had killed 
both birds (well knowing the compliment would 



38 GAME-BIRDS AT HOME, 

be returned and that his own private indorse- 
ment of it was all that was needed to make it 
certain), we loaded and moved on. It was plain 
that some of the main flock had gone farther 
than those we had scattered a few minutes before, 
and there might be a dozen or more ahead of us. 

So thought the dog ; for, after careful investi- 
gation of the breeze, he straightened out his tail, 
and, as we stopped, two more grouse rose from 
about the place where the last one fell. Bang^ 
whangs k-bang went all four barrels before the 
game had fairly cleared the top of the ferns. 
Each seemed trying to shoot quicker than the 
other, so as to have no doubt about the results 
this time. And there were no doubts. 

In the shade of some alders along a sparkling 
brook we spent the noon at lunch, finishing on 
the luscious red and yellow wild plums of this 
country, and lay there talking quite awhile after- 
ward before noticing that the dog was missing. 
The longest blasts of the whistle brought noth- 
ing for some time, when the dog suddenly ap- 
peared on the crest of the next ridge. For a 
moment he stood looking coolly at us with 
slowly-waving tail, then deliberately turned and 



THE SHARP-TAILED GROUSE. 89 

vanished over the ridge. We went to the top, 
and some four hundred yards down a gentle 
slope we saw the dog's head and back above the 
grass. He looked around to see if we were 
coming, and then moved slowly on some thirty 
yards. We walked a few yards ahead of him, 
when forty yards farther on some thirty grouse — 
two coveys evidently united — rose with riotous 
hubbub. One bird went bouncing into the grass 
at the sound of the guns, and another shook 
some snowy down from its tail and went whiz- 
zing away after its companions. The whole 
flock flew over half a mile and settled in a patch 
of long slough-grass. There was but little over 
an acre in the piece, and the grass was about 
waist-high. It was likely the birds would lie 
very close in this, but they were so wild that no 
chances could be taken ; and as we had come 
twenty-five miles for this shooting, we deter- 
mined to make the best of it, especially as the 
birds would in a few days be too wild to hunt 
with a dog at all. 

As we swung to the leeward two hundred 
yards from the grass, the cool, strong breeze 
blowing over it brought the dog to a halt. Fifty 



90 GAME-BIRDS AT HOME, 

yards nearer we went, with the dog slowly fol- 
lowing. Fifty more, and the dog followed more 
slowly. Fifty more, and he hesitated long be- 
fore moving up to us. Another twenty yards 
brought him to a point which he refused to 
break in spite of all urging. When we reached 
the edge of the grass without anything rising, the 
dog moved slowly up. We went some twenty 
feet into it before a bird burst from the tangle 
of grass, almost at the feet of my companion, and 
went curling around over the dog, falling in a 
fluttering racket of white and brown almost upon 
him. But the dog paid no attention to it. For 
the next half-hour the dog did little but crawl 
and lie down. Though the birds went like bul- 
lets when they rose, before that they lay like 
stones in the long grass at this time of day, de- 
pending on hiding more than on their wings. 
Half the time, when the dog was told to go on 
after we had finished loading, he did nothing but 
turn his head to one side or the other, and 
several times he did this without rising to his 
feet from where he had lain down at the report 
of the gun. Several birds had fallen before we 
could pick up a dead one, and even then we 



THE SHARP-TAILED GROUSE. Ql 

could not make the dog go ahead to retrieve. 
He would only back out and swing around to 
leeward to pick up those that had fallen on the 
sides. And then he would swing back before 
entering the center again. 

The twentieth century will sneer at the nine- 
teenth as we do at the eighteenth. But I am 
satisfied that my lot was cast in the nineteenth. 
It is good enough for me. 



VI. 



DAYS AMONG THE DUCKS. THE EVENING 
FLIGHT. 

Along the bottom-lands of the Illinois River 
the flag was fading and tints of gray were be- 
ginning to creep over the stately head of the 
cat-tail, the scarlet plume of the cardinal-flower 
was drooping, while the arms of the Cottonwood 
above it were shedding yellowing leaves into the 
smooth waters, when, toward the middle of an 
afternoon in 1864, with a light boat and a com- 
panion, I was winding up one of the sloughs that 
lead from the river into the bottoms. Along the 
muddy shores Wilson's snipe was lounging with 
easy grace, probing the soft mud, or squatting 
in some little bunch of grass and waiting for the 
boat to come within a few feet before springing 
into his erratic flight. His long bill and peculiar 
head, large lustrous eyes and gamy hues, made 
never a more pretty picture than when mirrored 

92 



BAYS AMONG THE DUCKS. 93 

in the still water as he rose in flight or trotted 
along the water's edge as unconcerned as if he 
knew we were after larger game. Dozens of 
yellow-legged snipe marched along the shore, or 
rose into dignified flight, when we came too near, 
and flew a few yards up stream to alight and look 
at us again. Golden plover in large flocks swept 
along the bars, and small snipe of many kinds 
whisked about in numbers now almost incredible. 
It was plain that such game was not shot at ; and 
equally plain that the plumage-hunter for bon- 
nets had not yet arrived, for snowy egrets flapped 
lazily from the trees as we came too near, while 
big herons, and bitterns in blue and brown, hardly 
took the trouble to rise as we passed them within 
easy pistol-range. 

The frosts had been early in the great breed- 
ing-grounds of the north, and in the upper sky 
long lines of ducks were headed for the south. 
Squealing and quacking at every turn in the 
slough rose wood-ducks, mallards, teal, and other 
ducks, often wheeling around or whizzing over us 
in a most tempting manner. But my companion, 
who was an old hand, told me to let them all go, 
as better things were in store. 



94 GAME-BIRDS AT HOME. 

A mile or so from the river the slough ran into 
an open marsh at the foot of Senachwine Lake, 
and from the side sloughs and ponds rose huge 
flocks of mallards so close that the burnished 
green of their necks and heads, the glistening 
bands of blue upon their wings, and the delicate 
curls of shining green upon their rumps were as 
clear as the white bands on their tails. But we 
let them go, as it is not always wise to shoot at 
ducks when you drive them out of a place, and 
my friend said this was nothing to what I would 
see before dark, and told me to save all my am- 
munition for the evening flight. He then placed 
me on a tongue of land running into a shallow 
pond, and directed me to hide well in the reeds, 
while he went to another point some two hun- 
dred yards away. 

As it was my first introduction to ducks I 
meant to follow his advice, though there were 
ducks enough in sight to satisfy any one. Along 
the sky streamed lines of dark dots, while from 
over the reeds and the timber in all directions 
came small bunches, big flocks, and single ducks. 
Scarcely was I well hidden in the reeds when a 
wood-duck, resplendent in carmine and purple, 



DAYS AMONG THE DUCKS. 95 

with beamy chestnut and velvety black, came 
whizzing past from the right. My friend was 
not yet a hundred yards away, and I thought it a 
good opportunity to show him how I could shoot. 
As I whirled the gun toward the game, a blue- 
winged teal, bound to reach Louisiana before 
dark, came hissing from the opposite direction, 
and must have been ten feet past the wood-duck 
by the time the first barrel went off. How I 
jerked that gun back again toward the teal with- 
out breaking the stock I don't know to this day. 
But it was one of those rare opportunities to try 
the most difficult of all shots that are irresistibly 
tempting. One is foolish to attempt such a shot 
where any one can see him ; for the second bird 
is almost certain to be fifty yards or more beyond 
the place where you fire at the first bird before 
you can possibly reverse the motion of the gun 
and throw it far enough to the other side. In 
both cases the aim must be taken and the trigger 
pulled with the quickness of thought, for the 
slightest delay or failure to cover the second bird 
with the center of the charge is almost certain to 
be fatal to success. 

In a few minutes a big mallard came along 



96 GAME-BIRDS AT HOME. 

with lazy stroke of wing, wagging his long green 
neck and head up and down as if looking for a 
comfortable place to alight and suspecting no 
dan — 

*'But hold on. How about those other two 
ducks? " 

Perdition seize your curiosity ! What differ- 
ence does it make now, after so many years? 
But if you will insist, I suppose I must tell. I 
had a little hatchet once, myself, and it worked 
just as well on the corner of a new barn as on 
cherry-trees. One day when an ancestor ap- 
peared on the scene of my labors I thought I 
would make a record that would dull the luster 
of that of Washington. But when the said an- 
cestor stooped to cut a hickory sprout, my thinker 
slipped an eccentric and ditched the train of 
thought in a misapprehension of fact. The 
readjustment of my moral machinery that took 
place in the next ninety-one seconds was so 
complete that it has never since jumped a cog. 
Therefore, impertinent reader, if you will insist, 
you shall have the truth. I got them both. 

Well, that mallard was so big, plump, and easy 
in flight, along the gun I so plainly saw the light 



£>AVS AMONG THE DUCKS. 97 

dance on his burnished head that it seemed un- 
necessary to aim very far ahead of him. Had 
the sun dropped from heaven I could hardly have 
been more surprised than I was to see that duck 
bound skyward with thumping wings at the re- 
port of the gun. 

But there was little time to reflect on the cause 
of the miss, for another wood-duck came glisten- 
ing over the sunlit reeds. I aimed at what 
seemed the right spot ahead of him and, with 
more confidence than ever, pulled the trigger. 
Yet at the sound of each barrel every shining 
feather sailed along as smoothly as gossamer 
thread on the evening breeze. 

Scarcely had I loaded, when like a charge of 
cavalry in bright uniform, with long green necks, 
and heads gleaming like so many couched lances, 
a flock of mallards streamed along the water in 
front of me. Though I could see four or five 
heads in line as I pulled the trigger, but one 
duck fell; and as the rest, unharmed, climbed the 
air with throbbing wings and I fired again at one 
of the leaders, he parted from the flock with 
wavering flight, hung high in air for a second, 
then, folding his wings, descended with a splash 



98 GAME-BIRDS AT HOME. 

into the reeds on the other side of the pond 
where it would not pay to lose time in looking 
for him. 

It soon became painfully evident that the nice 
little gun that had cost so many guineas in Lon- 
don and had such genuine platinum ''vents" in 
the breech — I had tested them with all the acids 
then obtainable — was a failure for this kind of 
game, although I had done fine work with it in 
the heavy brush of the Atlantic coast. And my 
feelings were not soothed by the dull wop that 
followed almost every roar of my companion's 
gun, no larger than mine and a cheap botch of 
American pig iron. 

While I was gazing into the blank caused by 
despondency, two blue-winged teal shot across 
the void, one about four feet ahead of the other. 
I tossed the gun ahead of the foremost bird at 
about the same distance I had been used to 
shooting ahead of quails and woodcock in brush, 
and pulled the trigger. The rear duck skipped 
with a splash over the water stone dead, while the 
one at which I had aimed sped across the reeds 
with unruffled feather. I had fallen into the 
common error of the tyro in duck-shooting of 



DAYS AMONG THE DUCKS. 99 

underestimating the speed of a duck, and conse- 
quently the distance necessary to hold ahead of 
it. Where I whirled the gun in from behind, as 
on the first two ducks, I generally hit it, for the 
motion of the line of sight is faster than that of 
the birds. The line of fire is ahead of where it 
actually seems, on account of the time lost in 
pulling the trigger and the escape of the shot, 
during which the muzzle of the gun is moving 
past the line of the game. But it took me long 
to hold far enough ahead, as well as to learn that 
I was using too much shot and too little powder 
for birds as tough as ducks. 

As Phoebus entered the home-stretch and his 
glowing chariot neared the gate of gilded clouds, 
the number of ducks increased by the minute. 
Most of those hitherto flying were ducks spend- 
ing the day in the adjacent sloughs and ponds. 
But now the host that had been feeding in the 
great cornfields of the prairie began to pour into 
roost, while the vast army of wild fowl bound 
farther south came marching down the sky. 
Long lines came widening out and sliding down, 
and out of the horizon rose dense bunches, hang- 
ing for a moment in the rosy sky then bearing 



100 GAME-BIRDS AT HOME. 

down upon me. Over the bluffs on the west 
where the land rolled into the vast expanse of 
the prairie they came, no longer single spies but 
in battalions, and swifter than the wind itself 
thousands came riding the last beams of the sink- 
ing sun. The sky above was dotted with con- 
verging strings or wedge-shaped masses from 
which fell the sonorous Hoiik of the Canada goose 
or the clamorous cackle of brant. And in all di- 
rections single ducks, ducks in pairs and in small 
bunches, were darting and whizzing. Wilson's 
snipe was pitching about in tortuous flight, plover 
drifted by with tender whistle, blue herons, bit- 
terns, and snowy egrets with long necks doubled 
up and legs outstretched, flapped solemnly across 
the scene, while yellowlegs and sandpipers filled 
in the openings. 

A wild and wondrous scene this ''evening 
flight," and quite incredible to-day the numbers 
in which the water-fowl once thronged at night- 
fall the choice resorts of the West. Yet what I 
had so far seen was but the advance-guard of an 
army whose numbers were beyond concep- 
tion. 

When I shot the last of the two blue-winged 



DAYS A A/0 JVC THE DUCKS. lOI 

teal instead of the foremost at which I had aimed, 



I thought I had discovered the secret of missing, 
and that my skill as a quick shot in brush would 
quickly tell again, as on the two ducks coming 
from opposite directions. But the nerves that 
felt only a slight tremor when the ruffed grouse 
burst roaring from the shady thicket now quaked 
beneath the storm that suddenly broke from 
every point of the compass. I found myself the 
converging point of innumerable dark lines, 
bunches, and strings rushing toward me at dif- 
ferent rates of speed, but even the slowest fear- 
fully fast. There I stood bothering with a 
muzzle-loader, my head aching from the recoil 
of the heavy charges I was vainly pouring into it, 
registering on high countless vows to hold a rod 
or two ahead of the next duck, yet shooting but 
a few inches ahead before I could think of what 
I was about, only to see the game whiz away up- 
ward unharmed, and the sky again darken around 
me with hissing wings before I could even pour 
the powder into the gun. 

Little knowing how he was harrowing my 
feelings, my friend now called out : 

** Let everything go but mallards, and be sure 



102 GAME-BIRDS AT HOME, 

and land them close to your feet. They are just 
beginning to come." 

"Just beginning! What will the end be? 
Already they care nothing for the sight of man 
or gun, and sheer but little from the spouting 
flame," I thought. 

On the sky the light was shattered into a 
thousand tints, with everything above the horizon 
in clear outline, while over all below rested a 
pallid glow that intensified brilliant colors, but 
threw a weird gloom over somber shades. From 
the departed sun rosy light radiated into the 
zenith, while the upper sky on the east was 
changed by the contrast into pale gold tinged 
with faded green. North and south the blue 
shaded into delicate olive tints, shifting into 
orange toward the center of the great dome. 
On the east lay castles of rich umber fringed 
with crimson fire: on the west rolled banks of 
coppery gold and fleecy streams of lemon-colored 
vapor. Over this stage now poured a troop of 
actors that made the wonders of the last few 
minutes seem a puppet-show. 

Hitherto the ducks coming in to roost had 
come from near the level of the horizon. But 



DAYS AMONG THE DUCKS. IO3 

now with rushing, tearing sound, as if rending 
with speed the canopy of heaven, down they came 
out of the face of night. Dense masses of blue- 
bills, with wings set in rigid curves, came winding 
swiftly down, with long lines of mallards whose 
stiffened wings made the air hiss beneath them. 
On long inclines and sweeping curves sprigtails 
and other large ducks rode down the darkening 
air, while, swift and straight as flights of falling 
arrows, blue-winged teal fell from the sky, — and 
green-wings shot by in volleys or pounced upon 
the scene with the rush of a hungry hawk. Geese 
in untold numbers went trooping past, but most 
of them kept high in the sky until over some of 
the larger lakes, then lengthening their dark 
lines, descended slowly in long spiral curves. 
White-fronted geese, too, dotted the western and 
northern skies, marched with faster wing and 
more clamorous throats until over the edge of 
the larger ponds, then, in solemn silence slowly 
sailing for a few hundred feet, suddenly resumed 
their cackle and, whirling, pitching, tumbling, and 
gyrating, every bird with a different twist, down 
they went to the water as fast as gravity could 
take them. 



104 GAME-BIRDS AT HOME. 

Myriads of water-fowl traveling from the north 
swept by without slackening a wing. Black in 
the falling night the head and neck of the mal- 
lard were outstretched for another hundred miles 
before stopping. " Darkly painted on the crim- 
son sky," the forked rudder of the sprigtail was 
set for warmer regions. From where dark lines 
of widgeon were streaming came down a plain- 
tive whistle that plainly said Good-bye. Far 
above all these and still bathed in rosy light were 
floating southward as softly as flecks of down 
long strings of sandhill cranes, sending down 
through a mile or two of air their strangely pene- 
trating notes. And even above these, with swifter 
flight and more rapid stroke of wing than seemed 
possible for birds so large, snowy swans rode the 
sunlight of the upper air. 

Yet of the game that descended there was 
more than enough for me. With trembling hand 
I poured my last charge of powder into the 
heated gun and raised it at a flock of mallards 
gliding swiftly toward me with every long neck 
aimed at my devoted head. WJieeeeeooooooo shot 
a volley of green-wings between the mallards and 
the gun. Kssssssssss came a mob of blue-wings 



DAYS AMONG THE DUCKS, IO5 

by my head as I shifted the gun toward the 
green wings. And Bbbbbbbbbbbbb came a score 
of mallards along the reeds behind me as, be- 
fuddled with the whirl and uproar, I shifted the 
gun to the blue-wings. When I wheeled toward 
these last mallards, after making a half-shift of 
the gun toward the blue-wings, they saw me and, 
belaboring the air with heavy strokes, swung 
upward ; and as I turned the gun upon them, a 
brigade of blue-bills with hissing wings rent the 
air between us, while behind me I heard the air 
throb again with the wings of a regiment of mal- 
lards. The gun wabbled from the second mal- 
lards to the blue-bills, and then around to the 
last mallards, and finally illuminated the dark- 
ness just over my head that the mallards had 
filled when I raised it. 



VIL 



DAYS ON THE ILLINOIS. 

Like the bottoms of other Western rivers 
those of the IlHnois were once a great place for 
camping. However cold the night we needed 
little tent, and that only to shed possible rain ; 
for driftwood was everywhere, and piled high in 
front it filled the open tent with light and com- 
fort, while the glare shot across the river until 
the deaa cottonwoods on the other side looked 
like imploring ghosts reaching their arms heaven- 
ward. Often by its light we could see the white 
collars on the geese drifting through the night 
above, and plainly distinguish the glossy head of 
the mallard as he swept the tree-tops. All 
worldly cares went whirling skyward in the vor- 
tex of flame and sparks, and on the dark rotunda 
around it fancy hung many a bright picture of 
the kind the sportsman alone can see. 

1 06 



DAYS ON THE ILLINOIS. 10/ 

Lulled to sleep by the cackle of flying brant, 
the quack of mallards in the pond near by, the 
deep To-zvJioooo of the great owl in the tree be- 
side us, the Scaipe of wandering snipe, the far- 
reaching Grrrrrroooooooo of sandhill cranes trav- 
eling in the dome of night, and the shrill quaver- 
ing cry of the raccoon in the timber behind us, 
we rose at daybreak for the morning flight of 
water-fowl. Though this generally lacked the 
bewildering intensity of the evening flight, there 
was yet enough rush and bustle to upset a highly 
respectable equilibrium. 

Perhaps a lone mallard opens the ball. Slowly 
winging his way out of the circle of gray, he 
crosses the sky in dim outline above you. It is 
so dark there seems little danger of his seeing 
you ; but his wings begin to thump the air with 
extra force as he climbs rapidly out of danger. 
He is not quite quick enough, though, and at 
the report of your gun his neck doubles up and 
down he comes. On the instant the air throbs 
beneath ten thousand wings, and a wild medley 
of energetic quacks, dolorous squeals, melodious 
honks, and discordant cackles resounds from far 
and near as the myriads of ducks, geese, and 



I08 GAME-BIRDS AT HOME. 

brant that have been roosting in the ponds near 
by rise into flight. 

Into a hundred divisions breaks the vast horde 
of water-fowl, each division circling skyward or 
streaming over your head without seeming to 
know or care whence came the shot that alarmed 
them. As the flame again darts upward from 
your gun and two or three dark bodies come 
whirling downward, the circle of sky overhead is 
for a moment cleared, while around its margins 
thousands of wings belabor the air until you can 
almost feel the earth tremble. But in a few 
seconds more the space above you is again 
thronged with rushing wings. 

Beware how you waste your fire on this flock 
of teal rising out of the morning's gray, for just 
behind them the strong wings of a heavy flock of 
mallards are pounding the air. Beware, too, how 
you waste your fire even on the mallards, for on 
the right, and thrillingly near, the Canada goose 
winds his mellow horn. But how can one reason 
calmly when the hissing wings of a flock of sprig- 
tails are heard before one's premises are thought 
of, and his conclusion is rudely interrupted by a 



DA YS ON THE ILLINOIS. IO9 

dark line of blue-bills pouring out of what is left 
of the night? 

The flight generally increases with every new 
beam of light that struggles through the misty 
morning. No longer the wild-fowl pounce upon 
you from the sky as in the evening flight, nor 
do they come out of the north more than from 
any other direction. From every point they 
stream, with less uproar but more majestic march. 
Over the cat-tails around you they pour in dark 
masses, long wedge-shaped strings or crescent 
lines at tremendous speed, while single ducks in 
all directions hammer seventy miles an hour out 
of the rising breeze. 

When dawn has fairly set in, the ducks travel 
higher and farther off, though the flight may 
continue strong and steady for an hour or con- 
siderably more. The gun must now be loaded 
as heavily as your shoulder will permit, and held 
farther ahead of crossing shots. As a flock of 
mallards makes the air sing, so near that you can 
plainly mark the shading of their gray bellies 
and see the light of the coming sun shine on the 
burnished green, it seems as if you had only to 
aim at the tip of the bill. But to your surprise 



no GAME-BIKDS AT HOME, 

the bird you thus fire at towers with thumping 
wings, while his comrades climb the airy stairs be- 
hind him without sending even a feather to com- 
fort you. And beware how you let this flock of 
blue-bills get too nearly over your head before 
you fire. Like dark spirits from the under- 
world they come up out of the circle of reeds 
straight for your head — their wings hazy with 
speed. You correct your last mistake by shift- 
ing the gun ahead until the leader disappears 
behind the barrels. All very well ; but you have 
lost a valuable second, and the birds are so nearly 
over your head when you fire that, though the 
leader whirls over dead, he falls on a long slant- 
ing line into the reeds, so far behind that you will 
lose several good shots in trying to find him. 

Of course there are days on the best grounds 
and in the best duck season when neither the 
evening nor the morning flight is very good, 
though water-fowl throng the lakes and sloughs. 
At such times, when they move at all it is more 
over the water than over the adjacent land, where 
one can hide well enough for a good shot. It is 
difficult to tell what is a good duck day. But on 
a bad one, a big box or barrel sunk to the edge 



DA YS ON THE ILLINOIS. 1 1 1 

of the water in some of the large shallow ponds of 
the river-bottoms, and fringed around the edges 
with reeds, often afforded rare sport. Often 
flocks of mallards would skim the water until the 
green necks shone within ten yards of the barrel, 
and then as you rose to shoot there was a spark- 
ling mixture of blue bars flashing on wings, glis- 
tening breasts of chestnut, white-banded tails 
with curls of burnished green, of red legs and 
beaded eyes, whirling upward with wild quacking. 
There, too, you could see the geese wind slowly 
out of the blue until near the water, and then 
with silent wing, and every musical throat sud- 
denly hushed, drift softly along a few feet above 
the surface until you could hear the soft hiss of 
their sailing wings and see their black eyes 
sparkle but a few yards from you. And as you 
rose and looked along the gun, such pounding of 
sheering wings, such confusion of white collars on 
black necks, of gray wings and swarthy feet, 
would crowd upon your eye as was worth waiting 
long to see. 

Though ducks in the West do not generally 
come to decoys in autumn as well as in spring, 
there were many days when they would come 



112 GAME-BIRDS AT HOME. 

fairly well, especially the teal, wood-ducks, and 
blue-bills. Sometimes during the middle of the 
day, when the birds were flying too high for 
good pass shooting, we pulled the boat into a 
blind of reeds or willows and set out some de- 
coys. It was a nice way to wile away the mid- 
dle of the day and eat a lunch in comfort, for 
there was rarely danger of being too violently 
interrupted, most of the ducks ignoring decoys 
at this season. But often a bite that would 
otherwise have reached the crust of a piece of 
pie, so as to leave nothing more necessary for 
the next bite than doubling the two remaining 
triangles together, had its bud of promise rudely 
nipped by the sudden hiss of descending wings, 
when all the sky seemed clear around us. And 
again a promising scratch of a match was blighted 
and the pipe dropped in the bottom of the boat 
because of a regiment of ducks swinging around 
the bend on silent wing and almost touching the 
water about the decoys before we saw them. 
Sometimes when we were unusually busy with 
the lunch, or dozing afterward, with sky serene 
and nothing moving, a sudden splash among the 
decoys would make us jump for our guns, which 



DAYS ON THE ILLINOIS. II3 

we would generally manage to raise about the 
time the last duck was a little too far. Often 
Wilson's snipe came trotting along the boggy 
strip of shore beyond the reeds, and if we kept 
perfectly still we could see the little beauty 
probe the mud, pull out worms and sling them 
down his marvelous throat, that no bottomless 
pit can rival in capacity. Then he would stand 
a few moments with a look of sublime content in 
his deep dark eye, and perhaps squat awhile in 
some little tuft of grass, though he generally 
wore a restless foot and seemed to like change 
quite well. 

Amusement on the bottoms of the Illinois, 
many years ago, was by no means limited to the 
days when the winged myriads were pouring 
from the North. Hot, malarious, and mosquito- 
ridden though it was, summer left many a duck 
behind to breed, instead of following the main 
army to the North. When the tender blue of 
the iris began to fade on the stalks of green that 
fringed the ponds of the bottoms, the old duck 
led out some little scraps of yellow down that 
floated on the water as softly as the shadows of 
the summer clouds. While the old one sought 



114 GAME-BIRDS AT HOME. 

safety on high when we came too near, the little 
ones went under in a flash. Standing up in the 
boat I could plainly see the golden line they 
made in the water, and the stream of fine bub- 
bles rising from their course. Often I was near 
enough to see them kick lustily out behind with 
their little feet, and marvelous time they would 
make, rising for a moment to catch breath, and 
then darting quickly under, until where the pur- 
ple petals of the water-target were brightening 
above its leaves they vanished in the darkening 
water. 

Huge pickerel furrowed the water ahead of 
the boat as it rode the ponds and sloughs, and 
threw themselves often out of water in a shining 
curve in the rush for some minnow on the sur- 
face. By standing up in the boat in some of 
the deeper sloughs scores of bass could be seen 
lying in the depths with little apparent concern, 
though darting away like light at the first motion 
that indicated danger. At night the jack-light 
in the head of the boat revealed a strange popu- 
lation of buffalo-fish, sheepshead, and other vari- 
eties, with great pickerel and stupendous catfish 
worth going far to see. 



DA VS ON THE ILLINOIS. 1 1 5 

From the margins of the sloughs that every- 
where threaded the dense groves of sycamore, 
Cottonwood, and willow, the woodcock sprung in 
summer with that mellow whistle of the wing- 
feathers that brings the gun whirling from the 
shoulder. And from the islands where the yel- 
low spike of the golden club and the bright red 
of the polygonum illumined the shades of vines 
that clambered over piles of drift, he came twist- 
ing out in that spiral line of brown that so 
quickly finds the dense foliage above. 

Life was so abundant in these bottoms at this 
time that one need not be lonely even when only 
rowing about the sloughs from curiosity. The 
wings of the dove whistled on every breeze, and 
blackbirds in legions rose roaring from the green 
ranks of the reeds. Hundreds were mirrored in 
the water as they passed over it or sat in strings 
upon the overhanging branches. Some in bur- 
nished purple and bronze, some with red-barred 
wings, and others with golden throats, they were 
everywhere from morning until night, and as 
tame as snowbirds on a winter morning. In the 
depths of the timber, where the hunter or fisher- 
man rarely penetrated, the heavy rattle of the 



Il6 GAME-BIRDS AT HOME. 

great pileated woodpecker could be heard, and 
with care you might get a glimpse of his scarlet 
head and big black body. For even this early, 
and though never shot at, he was a wild and 
wary bird, whose habits made him peculiarly at- 
tractive, though you did not care to kill him. 
The common red-headed woodpecker was on 
almost every tree old enough to have dead limbs, 
and his cheerful squeal echoed everywhere in 
alternation with his rattling bill. Among the 
tree-tops flashed his brilliant contrast of white, 
black, and red, and here and there it was mingled 
with the gold of the high-holder glimmering 
amid the green. Little woodpeckers in gray 
jackets with crests of carmine, fringes of red, and 
bands of black and white, squeaked and flitted 
here and there, hopped up and down the trunks 
with equal ease, and hitched themselves about 
with tail and claws as easily as the nut-hatches 
and creepers. Everywhere above the water 
could be heard the noisy kingfisher's rattle, on 
many a limb that overhung the water gleamed 
his crested head, and along the still waters of the 
sloughs you could see his blue coat disappear in 
the water with a splash, and a fish shine in. his 



DAYS ON THE ILLINOIS. 1 17 

bill as he reappeared. Silent, on one leg, the 
heron stood on many a bar, and around the edge 
of many a pond shone the snowy plumage of the 
egret, whose callow brood was beginning to chat- 
ter in the top of some lofty sycamore. Thrushes 
were melodious in the shades, with kinglets and 
song-sparrows twittering in the more open places. 
Near the timbered bluffs that sometimes came 
to the river, the bark of the gray squirrel was a 
common sound, and the fluffy yellow of the fox- 
squirrel outstretched on some big limb a common 
sight. 

And when along the moist banks the azure 
bloom of the mimulus began to help out the 
brilliant blue of the lobelia, and the wild cucum- 
ber to festoon the piles of drift, then, at almost 
every turn in the sloughs, young ducks, nearly 
large enough to shoot, went flapping along the 
water, scudding into the grass and reeds, or squeal- 
ing into the air from almost every sand-bar. 
Along the river they were strung like beads on 
the stranded logs, and almost everywhere in the 
long grass and reeds were so many hiding at 
your approach, instead of taking wing, that any 
kind of a dog that would retrieve would bring 



Il8 GAME-BIRDS AT HOME. 

joy to the heart of the meat-hunter without the 
expense of burning powder. Soon along the 
bars the plover began to whistle, and before the 
rose-colored flowers of the water-plaintain began 
to droop, the shrill call of the yellowleg mingled 
with the plaintive notes of the kildeer. And 
before the white petals of the arrrowhead had 
ceased to nod along the pools, Wilson's snipe was 
again trotting on the shore, and soon it needed 
but a few cold nights in the far North to bring 
down the vanguard of the great quacking hordes 
that would once more make your nerves tremble 
at the sinking of the sun. 



VIII. 



THE WILD GOOSE. 



Many who have never made his acquaintance 
think the goose is not a game bird. But one 
need not know him very well to feel that he is 
quite worthy of his fire. Few birds are better 
judges of the range of a gun, few eyes much 
quicker than his to detect any suspicious motion 
and see through a flimsy blind. Nor are there 
many sounds that awake more tender thoughts 
than the deep-toned Honk, whether falling afar 
from the sky as the goose floats away south in 
disdain of all your quarter of the universe, or 
sounding clear and penetrating above your tent 
as he passes in the dead of night, or rolling 
toward every corner of the sky as the flock 
sheers, whirls, and rises when you move in the 
pit or blind. 

The wild goose has been widely distributed 

119 



120 GAME-BIRDS AT HOME. 

from the Atlantic to the Pacific, and has made 
abundant sport in every State of the Union. 
But nowhere has he been so plenty, spent so long 
a portion of the year, and made such varied 
shooting as in California. Before the plains and 
slopes of the southern part became so covered 
with vineyards, orchards, and fine homes, it was 
the favorite winter home of myriads of geese. 
They dotted the spangled green of most of the 
larger plains, and in many places made the finest 
and easiest shooting. Though fair shooting yet 
remains in places, nothing can give any idea of 
the hordes of geese that from the North once 
poured down to winter in this sunny land. Snow- 
geese, generally called "white brant," were al- 
most always in sight. Like lines of cloud they 
streamed along the breast of the distant moun- 
tain, stood like sheets of snow upon the green 
of the rolling plain, or upon the waters of the 
lagoon floated as lightly as the reflection beside 
them of the snowy peaks. 

The clanging cackle of the white-fronted goose, 
commonly called ''gray brant" or sometimes 
" black brant " to distinguish it from the '* white 
brant," was as common as the warbling of the 



THE WILD GOOSE. 121 

linnet. Above the larger lagoons, between ten 
and twelve o'clock dozens of flocks could be seen 
coming in from the distant plains, and descend- 
ing to the water in their peculiar manner. Cir- 
cling in air perhaps two or three times, then 
massing silently in orderly array, they sail to a 
point over the water, setting their wings and 
poising for a second ; then every throat, tuned to 
concert pitch, opens at once. Then, sometimes 
dozens at once, they dive, tumble, whirl, gyrate, 
and turn somersault downwards, a thousand feet 
perhaps, to the surface of the water. Then 
catching themselves, and closing in long and 
orderly line, with motionless wing and silent 
throat they sail for many a rod just above the 
surface, and finally settle into the water as softly 
as so many flakes of snow. 

Morning and evening, over almost every hori- 
zon, lines of dark dots rose into the sky, and 
from them floated far over the land, softened by 
distance to wondrous sweetness, the Honk of the 
Canada goose. Where the deep pink of the 
clatonia smiled over the dense green of the 
springing clover stood long lines of gray bodies 
with black heads and white-collared throats. 



122 GAME-BIRDS AT HOME. 

And on the knolls where the mild blue-bells 
paled the orange fire of the poppies, bunch after 
bunch of geese stood basking in the sun of mid- 
day. But whether standing in silent dignity or 
waddling about to feed on the fernlike leaves oi 
the alfileria, whose little pinkish stars lit up the 
greensward, the goose was watching for danger 
with that keen eye that makes him so respected 
by those who know him. 

All lovers of the field learn that plenty of game 
does not imply plenty of shooting, any more than 
plenty of shooting implies plethora of game- 
pockets. And nowhere have I seen this truth 
more apparent than when one could often see 
from the window more game than can now be 
seen in a day's hunt. Although quite simple 
compared with the devices now necessary to in 
sure a near acquaintance with the wary goose, 
many tricks were needed even then. It required 
no pits in the ground or decoys to lure the birds, 
but it was still necessary to be well hidden when 
lying in wait along their line of flight. Often 
you could hide in the shade of the heteromeles 
that rose ten or twelve feet in ever-living green, 
starred with a thousand scarlet berries as bright 



THE WILD GOOSE. \1^ 

as those of the mountain ash. Where this failed, 
the evergreen head of the common sumac was 
good enough, and often a bunch of scrubby live- 
oak or even ramiria or sage would do. Or there 
would be a little cut or shallow gully in which 
one could lie amid the pink-veined white of the 
nodding cowslip and the fragrance of golden 
violets. 

Well concealed on a good line of flight at the 
proper time of day, one had rarely long to await 
the game. Heralded by a mellow Honk, an out- 
stretched string of dark dots came swiftly toward 
you, growing rapidly larger as the line widened 
out ; for the goose, though seeming a slow flier, 
because so large, is really a bird of rapid flight. 
On they came, with their Honk sounding clearer 
and deeper, until you could hardly resist the 
temptation to look around the side of the bush 
or through its top to see if the game were near 
enough. When the liquid notes sounded near, 
it was so natural to grasp the gun a little tighter 
and shift it just a little, to have it in the rignt 
position for quick and certain work when the 
supreme moment should arrive. But lack of 
patience was often one's undoing even when the 



124 GAME-BIRDS AT HOME. 

geese were very tame ; for when you saw the 
dark Hue, with heavy Wiff^ i^iff-, '^iff, "^^ffi 
wiff of wing and Honk-onk k-wonk onk konk 
k-wonk of outstretched throat, swing off just 
enough to carry the nearest bird safely beyond 
all reach of the threatened danger, you realized 
that there are some things in hunting that always 
repay their cost, and the foremost thereof is 
patience. 

No time for vain regrets, for where the green 
of the plain joins the blue of the sky another 
line is rising into view, and the clarion-calls from 
the center and either end converge as if the 
whole line were aimed directly at you. And 
now, whether sitting in a bush or lying on the 
ground, keep perfectly still. To know when the 
birds are near enough to shoot at, depend only 
on the sound of wings above, or upon the metal- 
lic ring the Honk will have when the game is so 
nearly over you that it is impossible for it to 
escape your fire. And beware how you decide 
this latter point ; for there is no bird of its size 
that can turn with more provoking ease than the 
Canada goose, even when very close" and coming 
swiftly tov/ard you. 



THE WILD GOOSE. 125 

Along the sky the Une comes widening out, 
the mellow Honk deeper and clearer, and you 
crouch behind the bush, not daring to show your 
face or move, while fancy pictures the manner of 
their coming, and sees the birds settle lower 
toward the earth as they approach. And soon 
you think you can hear them set their big wings 
and slide down the air with their long dark necks 
and white throats almost over you. But not yet, 
not yet! Now is the critical time, the time 
when more shots are thrown away than at any 
other. For if you rise a moment too soon, you 
shall see the line turned away and just comfort- 
ably out of reach. Wait a moment more, and 
you may hear the tips of broad wing-feathers 
softly fanning the air above, and feel a stranger 
depth in the trumpet-tone that stirs a tumult in 
your blood. And seldom shall you have seen 
such excitement condensed into so short a space 
as when you rise to see the air filled with big 
thumping wings sheering upward and outward 
amid an uproarious Ho-nk-onk-wonk-onk wonk ; 
while at the report of your first barrel a whirl of 
gray strikes the flowery green, and at the report 



126 GAME-BIRDS AT HOME. 

of your second another long neck droops, two 
more big wings are folded. 

Strange sights might formerly be seen upon 
these plains, and once I saw a touching instance 
of brotherly love. A goose fell behind a flock 
into which my companion had fired, settling 
lower with slower stroke of wing. Two other 
geese fell back and, coming to the side of the 
wounded one, seemed trying to cheer and sustain 
him. Yet slower became his stroke of wing and 
lower he settled, with his companions clinging to 
the last hope of helping him. But from above 
a broad dark line shot downward on a long in- 
cline, aimed directly at the failing goose. With 
melancholy Wonk his two friends steered away, 
leaving him to the eagle against which it was 
useless to try to protect him. Right above the 
goose the broad line turned and shot away on 
high ; for the eagle had missed his stroke and, 
with quick turn of wings, glanced far upward with 
his momentum. Then catching himself in air he 
turned again and, shooting swiftly down, reached 
the victim as it was settling into the grass. 

On these grounds fine sport could once be had 
with a rifle. Care was needed to make the first 



THE WILD GOOSE. 12/ 

shot tell, for even when quite tame the Canada 
goose displays a shocking lack of patience when a 
gentleman attempts to find his distance by trial. 
He has also a very impolite way of carrying with 
him, even in the most compact flock, a vast 
amount of circumambient space that hungers for 
lead in a manner quite amazing. Zip — zecoooooo 
goes the ball, glancing from the very center of 
the flock, with the Wiff zviff iviff wiff zviff of 
heavy wings throbbing on your ear, and a medley 
of white, black, and gray rising into the sky 
without leaving a feather on the green. But if 
you have gauged the distance rightly and held 
the sights of the rifle closely on the center of a 
single goose, you may hear perhaps a dull thup, 
and, as the rest of the flock starts skyward on 
reverberating wing, you may see a gray body 
stretched on the sod as if smitten with a thunder- 
bolt hissing hot from the hand of Jove. 

Better than wandering over the plain in search 
of shots is to sit behind a bush or tree that nods 
on the bank of some pond where geese spend the 
day. If convenient, have sticks in the water at 
different points, and have the rifle-sights adjusted 
to them by trial before the geese begin to come 



128 GAME-BIRDS AT HOME. 

in. Grass or reeds in the water will often do, 
and if the pond is not too large you may ap- 
proximate the range by firing at the blank 
water. The bright winter morning is scarcely 
half gone when, above the hills that loom hazily 
green in the warm sun, dark dotted lines begin to 
rise and the silvery Honk rings along the blue 
vault. Instead of pitching and tumbling like 
the white-fronted goose, the Canada geese often 
drift slowly down sometimes two thousand feet 
or more on a slope two or three miles long, 
almost without moving a wing. As they near 
the surface of the water and spread their wings 
on a plane parallel to its glassy face every throat 
for a moment is hushed, and they sweep majesti- 
cally but softly along as if air were buoyant as 
water. Then with sudden stroke of wing they 
turn themselves half erect until their underwear 
is brightly pictured in the mirror beneath and 
the white collars shine on their outstretched 
necks, with heavy splash settle into the water, 
and in a moment all is still. 

Wop goes the ball against the water, and 
whe-eeeoooo it sings on high after glancing from 
its surface. Instantly follows the roar of heavy 



THE WILD GOOSE. 1 29 

wings mingled with many a Honk — onk — honk — 
k-ivonk, and upward swings the flock, leaving the 
smooth water unmarred by even a floating 
feather. Many such a miss will you score with 
the rifle unless you have many guides to the 
distance scattered over the pond ; but there is 
often more satisfaction in seeing the ball strike 
the water an inch, perhaps, over the back of the 
goose at which you aimed than in killing one 
with the shot-gun. 

For the most condensed excitement, driving 
into a flock of geese with a fast team, a good 
driver, and a light wagon always wore the laurel. 
It could be done only in the days when the 
game had not learned to fear a wagon much, and 
even then only with a strong breeze and the 
ground good. There were plenty of places 
where the ground was smooth enough for the 
most rapid pace, and plenty of mustangs that 
could fly over badger and coyote holes as easily 
and safely as the rising sun over the valleys. 

Imagine nearly an acre of the plain half cov- 
ered with geese whose black heads and white 
throats rise in tier upon tier until they look like 
a small army. They have done feeding, and are 



130 GAME-BIRDS AT HOME. 

sunning themselves until ready to start for the 
pond on which they will spend the warm hours 
of midday floating on the v/ater. Geese rise 
against the wind, and, although rapid flyers when 
once underway, are slow in starting. If we dash 
upon them from the windward side, every second 
they lose in getting under way will carry the 
wagon ten or fifteen yards nearer, and as they 
will try to rise against the wind they will lose 
several seconds in the breeze now blowing. 

The mustangs are urged into a fair trot on a 
line that will carry us a hundred yards or more 
to the windward of the geese. Don't look at 
the birds, nor intimate that you know of their ex- 
istence or would give a cent for the whole flock 
if you did. But let every gun be where it can 
be quickly handled, and let the driver have his 
whip in the same condition. And let each man 
keep his wits equally well in hand. 

The wagon rolls along until nearly opposite 
the geese. Then it is suddenly wheeled, the 
horses are lifted with a quick undercut of the 
whip and in a second are in wild career directly 
toward the geese. The soft pink of the painted- 
cup and the creamy heads of the buttercups fly 



THE WILD GOOSE. I3I 

beneath the bouncing wheels, the ground-squirrel, 
in full run for his hole, skips over the burrowing- 
owl'shead, and the chaparral-cock, distrusting his 
nimble legs in such emergency, breaks into re- 
luctant flight, while the geese begin to waddle 
and crane their necks to see what the racket is 
about. They are used to horses and even 
wagons, but not to such a runaway pace. By 
the time the wagon is within seventy yards of 
them they suspect something is the matter. By 
the time it has bounced over the next twenty 
they are sure of it. In another moment, with 
many a Ilonk-onk-ivonk, they are in the air. 

But as they can rarely resist the habit of 
rising toward the wind, — the side from which we 
are descending upon them, — a moment is lost 
during which the wagon covers another twenty 
yards. There is nothing left the game but to 
whirl over backward, out sideways and upwards. 
But by the time they discover their mistake and 
try to rectify it another moment is lost. Before 
you know it you are perhaps under the very 
middle of a wildly flapping and climbing medley 
of dark gray wings and screaming throats out- 
stretched towards all the points of the compass. 



132 GAME-BIRDS AT HOME. 

If not very careful you may be too late to 
shoot. Vain is any thought of stopping the 
wagon to allow you to take aim. The driver 
could not stop it in time if he would : and he 
will have his hands full to stop it in time to save 
your bones anyway, for the horses are in runaway 
speed. You must hold yourself in place and 
shoot as best you can before too near the center 
of the flock. You must be a good shot from a 
running horse or wagon, and quite able to keep 
your balance, mental as well as physical. Amid 
a general slavi-bang-rattlc-ty-bang you toss the 
gun to your shoulder, catch a glimpse of the 
end in line with something like revolving gray, 
and pull the trigger. For a second it seems as 
if the universe were whirling around you as one 
of the great birds falls with heavy thump on the 
back of one of the horses, with another gyrating 
almost into the wagon, while hundreds more are 
climbing with clamorous throats toward the dome 
of heaven as you rush on beneath at a pace that 
is quite alarming. 



IX. 

THE AMERICAN CRANES. 

By many the sand-hill crane and the whoop- 
ing crane are confounded with herons and bit- 
terns. But neither kind has anything in common 
with them except some resemblance in shape. 
Where they can get plenty of grain or grass the 
cranes seem to touch nothing else. When fat- 
tened on wheat, barley, corn, or cotton-seed, or 
even on good grass, either can be sure of the 
sincere regards of any epicure. 

As game-birds they command the unbounded 
respect of all who know them. In keenness of 
'sight no bird but the turkey and the whoop- 
ing crane equals the common sand-hill ; in knowl- 
edge of the range of a gun or rifle he is equaled 
only by the whooping-crane, and there is reason 
to think he is gifted with ears almost as keen as 
those of the deer. Like all other game these 

133 



134 GAME-BIRDS AT HOME. 

birds may in some spots or at some times be found 
tamer than usual. But such are the rare excep- 
tion, and they will generally try the utmost 
caution of the sportsman ; while the whooping- 
crane is perhaps the last of all the game of 
America, feathered or furred, that one who 
knows him Avould contract to furnish a specimen 
of within a given time. 

The mellow call of Bob White is heard no 
more upon the piairie, and the silvery tones of 
the upland plover die away in the far south be- 
fore the sand-hill comes. He comes when the 
burnished green of the mallard's head shines in 
tlie prairie-slough, when the deep- toned Honk of 
the Canada goose is heard on high, and the 
pinnated grouse in bands of hundreds sweep for 
miles at a single flight over the rolling expanse. 
The best shooting is from pits on stubbles, and 
in the great fields of corn that follow the first 
settlement of the prairie. It is generally too 
difficult to approach the birds, for on open plain 
it is useless to try to crawl within range, and 
even when they alight along some slough it is 
quite difficult to get within sure rifle-range, even 
under cover of slough-grass. The crane is no 



THE AMERICAN CRANES. 1 35 

believer in the rose business, and as soon as the 
desert begins to blossom he is done with it 
forever. 

On the Pacific coast the sand-hill crane was 
once very abundant. Stupendous flocks dotted 
the plains and slopes in winter. Far and wide 
where the sunlight played upon a thousand 
shades of green they stood upon the rising 
knolls, now blue, now almost white, according 
to the play of light, but always watching for 
danger. By night their rolling notes fell from 
the stars with unearthly vibration, and by day, 
with broad wings and long necks outstretched, 
they floated across the blue dome with such easy 
grace and so high above all other birds that they 
seemed to belong rather to heaven than earth. 

Some of the finest shooting here used to be in 
San Jose Del Valle, an old Mexican grant of 
fifty thousand acres lying three thousand feet 
above the sea and about sixty miles northeast of 
San Diego. 

It was about half open valley and half rolling 
slope, partly covered with thin chemisal mixed 
with juniper and bush live-oak, but on the more 
level portions was plenty of grass with large 



136 GAME-BIRDS AT HOME. 

lagoons, that made this rancho a favorite winter 
home of water-fowl and cranes. On the south, 
two thousand feet higher, towered Mount Volcan, 
golden on the ridges with the wild oats and 
grass of the last season, blue along the sides 
with dense chaparral, and darkly green upon the 
top with pine, live-oak, and silver fir. On the 
northwest Mount Palomar rose still higher, in a 
long ridge clad in cedar, pine, fir. and oak, above 
heaving swells of blue and gold ; on the west 
Mesa Grande rose in a terrace of green on which 
the live-oaks bowed like the trees in some old 
apple-orchard ; and on the east the tall Coyote 
Mountains, robed in chaparral with occasional 
parks of live-oaks in some little basin, or grove of 
sycamore around a sprmg, looked down from six 
thousand feet upon the scene. 

Over such a horizon-line, heralded by their 
penetrating tremolo, huge flocks of cranes set 
their wings, and in long lines, bluish gray 
against the somber background of cedar and fir 
that filled the heads and sides of the great 
gulches of the mountains, drifted slowly down 
toward you. And when they had settled to 
where the blue chaparral formed the background, 



THE AMERICAN CRANES. 137 

and those wild tones rang clearer and more 
searching, you grasped the gun with tighter grip 
though the game was still a mile or two away. 
No other bird has so much pomp and circum- 
stance about its movements; and when, instead 
of coming directly down, the cranes swept around 
the amphitheater in miles of spiral, while the 
long Grr7'rrrrrrrrrrrrooooo^ growing ever nearer 
and more penetrating, was answered by more 
cranes over the mountain-tops, you felt very 
much as you felt when first you heard the hounds 
open in full cry and the ringing racket came 
ever louder toward the runway where you 
were stationed. 

Well hidden in the grass or reeds on the line 
of flight, you had not long to wait, in the morn- 
ing or evening, before some of the numerous 
flocks were bearing down upon you. Then if 
you could resist the temptation to twist your 
head, or to shift the gun to get it into better 
position, and could lie perfectly still until you 
hear the broad wings winnow the air above, you 
might with each barrel of your gun send one of 
these huge birds whirling to earth in a huddle of 
long legs, necks, and outstretched wings that 



138 GAME-BIRDS AT HOME. 

looked sometimes as if the whole sky were fall- 
ing on you. 

When the Grrrrrrrrrrrroooo came thick and 
fast at night and you could see the tops of the 
mountains shining in robes of snow over which 
the pine, fir, and cedar in long lines stood guard, 
the moon full-orbed looking down from a sky of 
peerless purity, with cranes glimmering like 
spirits among the twinkling stars, it were strange 
if you did not go to where they were visible. 
But even then great care had to be taken, for the 
sand-hill crane can see any unusual thing at night 
farther than almost any other bird, and takes no 
chances when judging of the range of a gun. 
Even at night the surest way, if you have no pit 
or good cover in which to hide, is to lie upon the 
ground, in some hollow if possible, face down- 
ward and with the gun beneath you and so hidden 
that no light can shine from it. Few moments 
are more exciting than those spent in such a 
position, with the wild chorus trilled by a score 
of throats growing nearer and clearer by the 
moment, while you dare not look even out of 
the corner of your eye. With every resounding 
note you tighten your grasp upon the gun and 



THE AMERICAN CRANES. 139 

listen more intently for the sound of wings from 
which to determine the proper time to spring to 
your feet. No easy thing to contain yourself 
when those piercing tones reverberate within a 
hundred yards! But when you hear the soft 
fanning of the air above, and jump as you never 
jumped before, the troupe of actors that throngs 
the moonlit stage is worth coming far to see. 
Scores of birds larger than geese, pouring a flood 
of the most far-reaching sound that rolls from 
living throat, are wheeling and sheering across 
the starry night, with the moonlight glancing 
from many a dagger-beak and many a waving 
wing. And then if you have your nerve with 
you, one comes whirling down almost upon your 
head at the report of the first barrel, and as the 
flame spouts upward from the second another 
parts from, the rest of the flock as they vanish 
darkling into the night. 

Nowhere have I seen the two cranes so abun- 
dant and tame as on the great desert of northern 
Mexico known as Bolson de Mapimi. In the 
northeastern corner of the state of Durango are 
thousands of acres of this, in corn and cotton, irri- 
gated from the river Nases. North and east 



140 GAME-BIRDS AT HOME. 

vast plains stretch hundreds of miles, and on the 
west high into the sky rise ragged mountains. 
When I was first there the sound of a gun was 
almost unheard on this wide area, and the sand- 
hill crane, fat and lazy on cottonseed and corn, 
swung here and there across the scene with an 
easy grace that gave little indication of how sharp 
he could be when '' wanted." Along the horizon 
his tribe streamed in thousands, now almost 
white against the background of bare mountains, 
now bluish where they sailed low along the top of 
the corn or cotton so that the sun could play 
upon their backs, now dark where the course 
lay across the sky that here smiles the winter 
through. 

Here too, in greater numbers than I have ever 
seen elsewhere, was the whooping-crane, beside 
which the common sand-hill, with all his sharp- 
ness, is but a gosling. Though sometimes found 
in company with the sand-hill, the whooping- 
crane is generally contented with himself and 
keeps clear of all entangling alliances. He usu- 
ally avoids the sand-hill, as if he did not think 
him smart enough to associate with. Larger 
than the other by some eight or ten inches in 



THE AMERICAN CRANES. I4I 

extent of wing and six or eight inches in length, 
of snowy whiteness that rivals that of the swan 
except where several inches of black tip the 
broad wings, the whooping-crane when floating 
in the bright sunlight of the winter here is the 
most graceful of all large American game-birds. 

Circling much of the time so far in the zenith 
that he seems but a bit of down, and sending 
through miles of air a note both wild and strange, 
but ringing as the blast of a silver horn, it 
seems almost a hopeless task to get a shot at 
one. I had shot them before with the rifle, but 
to get within shot-gun range had always been 
too great a problem for all the care I could 
exert. But they, too, have the common in- 
firmity, and in the afternoon came winding down 
out of the sky in leagues of spiral, and in the 
evening and morning were drifting along the 
corn and cotton and settling into the fields to 
feed wherever it seemed safe. 

One morning they were flying low over some 
corn into which the water from the ditch had 
been lately turned ; the cranes and water-fowl 
being crazy about the fields that are lately wet. 
The stalks stood dense and tall, as they generally 



142 GAME-BIRDS AT HOME. 

are on irrigated land, and on a bit of the driest 
ground I made a bed of corn-stalks. Upon this 
I stretched face downward with the gun beneath 
me, coat-collar turned up and cap drawn back so 
as to conceal neck and hair, and had a peon 
cover me with corn-stalks and leave me to my- 
self and patience. 

How easy it seems to talk of patience ! Noth- 
ing was harder to exercise. Hardly had the 
sound of the peon's feet ceased, than the wings 
of big mallards were pounding the air so close 
that the whistling of the tips of their wing- 
feathers was plain. Scarcely were these past, 
when the soft hiss of the sailing w^ngs of canvas- 
backs in easy flight took their place, as in un- 
suspicious serenity of soul they came lazily in to 
alight. Then sounded the wings of a huge 
bunch of sprig-tails settling into a pool of water 
in the corn close beside me, while the canvas- 
backs alighted on some dry ground about equally 
near and began hunting for corn that had been 
shelled in husking. Hard, too, was the tempta- 
tion when the stiff set wings of large bunches of 
blue-bills rent the air with sharp hiss as they 
descended. And almost equally hard to look 



THE AMERICAN CRANES. 143 

out in front and see Wilson's snipe running 
about a few feet from me, probing the soft mud 
with his long bill, and in the water see the re- 
flection of long strings of the glossy ibis as they 
sailed along above. And how much harder to 
lie there and hear the searching Grrrrrrrrrrroooo 
come long drawn and rolling from every quarter, 
increasing by the moment, and soon hear the 
light stroke of fanlike wings while the long 
raucous windpipes, but a few feet above, rolled 
their wild notes like the rattle of the thunder- 
bolt ! 

But I let them all go unshot at, for one shot 
along the line of flight of the whooping-crane is 
quite certain to settle the prospects for that 
morning; and I lay there listening to the whiz of 
teal and the cackle of brant until there came a 
trumpet-note so wildly sweet that I almost held 
my breath. It had been sounding all the time I 
had been here, but with the illusive penetration 
that distance gives and which I had long learned 
to estimate. But now with ringing clearness it 
came — a sound unlike any other on earth, and 
one that few sportsmen or naturalists have ever 
heard often enough even to describe. 



144 GAME-BIRDS AT HOME. 

Like hours seemed the few minutes I had to 
await the coming of the makers of that strange 
sound, and when at last my straining ear caught 
the soft winnowing of the air in front and a 
little on one side, slower too and softer than that 
of the sand-hill's wing, I could scarcely contain 
myself for the instant necessary to let them come 
so close that they could not sheer out of the, 
way when I rose. I stood it for another second, 
and then as the sound came clearer just over me 
I sprung as never before. 

Scarce thirty feet above, the air was filled with 
white birds as large as swans, with necks as long, 
and broader and whiter wings barred on the ends 
with jet, climbing heavenward and sheering for 
all points of the compass at the same time, while 
the sun shone on soft carmine heads and dark 
green bills like gleaming swords, from which 
poured a volley of sound like the mingling of a 
score of bugles. It seemed wicked to spoil any- 
thing so rare and so beautiful as that sight ; but 
if I had had time to think, I could have consoled 
myself with the reflection that it is scarcely once 
in a lifetime that one gets a chance to make a 
double shot on this wild thing, and rare enough 



THE AMERICAN CRANES. 145 

is it to get a single shot. At the report of the 
first barrel one with folded wings and drooping 
neck turned its course into a downward plunge, 
and with the second another relaxed its hold on 
the warm sunlight and, with legs outstretched 
below, long neck, and bill pointing skyward, and 
extended wings nearly joined at the tips above, 
descended in a revolving whirl of white, black, 
and carmine. 



X. 

DAYS AMONG THE PLOVER. 

Next to Wilson's snipe no small bird has such 
attraction for the sportsman as the upland plover. 
It seems but yesterday its strange call first fell 
upon my childish ear, and made me stop and 
scan the horizon long before discovering far on 
high this little wisp of life speeding across the 
dome of blue as if a messenger of Jove. 

In the Western States the upland plover a few- 
years ago was so tame there was no pleasure in 
hunting it. But on the Atlantic coast, as far 
back as 1855, it was the wildest of all wild things. 
Few birds were more sought, and for few were as 
many miles so willingly traversed. 

When the bugloss spread its blue across the 
pastures, and the air was redolent of mint ; when 
the mutterings of thunder were over, and silvery 
clouds hung low along the horizon ; when a softer 

146 



DAYS AMONG THE PLOVER. 1 47 

stillness lingered in the groves, and a milder 
radiance played along the hills — do you not 
remember those days? Can you forget how 
something like the whisper of an angel in a silver 
flute struck a strange chord within, and, while you 
stood wondering whether it fell from the sky or 
came from below the horizon's verge, you saw a 
little scrap of gray whisking from the grass, far out 
of reach, and aimed for the stars? And then 
louder, clearerj yet even softer than before, fell 
again that strange ripple of sound that puti: to 
shame the wonders of acoustics, beside which 
ventriloquism is ridiculous and whispering-gal- 
leries contemptible. So near it seemed in its 
liquid purity that you expected to see another 
bird rising from the grass within easy shot ; and 
as you saw nothing, there came, more tender yet, 
even clearer and nearer than before, another 
pearly triplet of tone, as if another bird had risen 
at your feet. Can so much energy be lodged in 
that bit of frail machinery, that under the edge 
of yon distant cloud seems to need all its power 
to maintain its velocity? How can sound so 
light be so far-reaching, or tone so sweet traverse 
space like the thunderbolt with so little loss of 



148 GAME-BIRDS AT HOME. 

power ? So I used to wonder ; yet it made me 
love the little bird the more. I loved the young 
robin whose spotted breast was turning red, the 
bobolink whose bubbling joy was almost hushed 
in the meadow, the doves that from the stubbles 
rose with whistling wing, the highholders pitch- 
ing from one wild cherry-tree to another, and 
the young meadow-lark, whose breast of jet and 
gold was now nearly as bright as that of his 
father. All these for me in boyish days were 
game, but I lost almost all interest in them when 
I saw that little film of gray trailing over the late 
summer sky, and caught those pearls of sound 
that only one little throat can string. 

When about sixteen I started from the house 
for a short stroll before dinner, and took my gun 
along with only the two loads that were in it, 
expecting to see but a lark or highholder at best. 
Nearly a mile from the house I left the road and 
turned into an old pasture to look for black- 
berries. I strolled along where the white and 
blue of the morning-glory were twining over the 
gold of the cinquefoil, when suddenly I heard a 
triplet of melody so soft it seemed to fall through 
a mile of air. As I looked toward the vault of 



DAYS AMONG THE PLOVER. 1 49 

heaven, expecting to see a little speck among the 
clouds, a bit of gray flitting over some corn be- 
yond a fence scarce twenty yards away caught 
my eye. Quickly the gun was whirled from my 
shoulder toward it, and when the smoke cleared 
nothing was there but the corn waving darkly 
green. 

As if rebounding fiom heaven, that sweet call 
echoed and re-echoed as I crossed the fence, and 
half a dozen more scraps of gray started from the 
corn. I landed from the fence in time to stop 
the last one, and might have done so but for the 
reflection that there was but one load in the gun 
and no ammunition in my pocket. So anxious 
was I that I fired a little too quickly, and above 
the edge of the smoke the bird went saiHng sky- 
ward. But disappointment vanished as I saw 
one of the first birds settle into the corn some 
three hundred yards away, with two more wheel- 
ing around to follow him. Three corn-fields 
joined here, making one large piece a little over 
waist-high. The birds v/ere probably young 
ones bred in the adjoining fields, and had gone 
into the corn to escape the heat, and there were 
doubtless more there. 



150 GAME-BIRDS AT HOME. 

So I reasoned as I flew across the fields for 
more ammunition. The scarlet of the catch-fly 
and the opening bloom of the golden-rod seemed 
a stream of fireworks from my speed, and it was 
but a few minutes before I was returning out of 
breath. 

Only a few steps beyond where I had picked up 
my first bird, a faint haze of gray mottled with 
brown and black rose out of the corn with that 
mysterious note that always raised havoc in my 
young nerves. It brought my gun so quickly to 
my shoulder that before I knew it off it went. 
So did the gray, speeding away upward, and 
joined farther on by two new lines of gray amid 
a full chorus of strange melody. Where is an- 
other such moment as when you glance along the 
gun and see for a twinkling that you have raised 
it on the exact spot where it should be? In a 
second more I saw the gray clear-cut against the 
distant sky and in exact line with the gun. It 
vanished for an instant in the smoke of my 
second barrel, to appear below in a soft whirl of 
gray, white, and brown gyrating to earth, while 
its two companions sped away on high, their 



£>AVS AMONG THE PLOVER. IJI 

notes falling louder and sweeter as they fringed 
the clouds. 

As I reloaded all was silent except the song- 
sparrow warbling in the fragrant sassafras* or the 
wren twittering his late piece in the blackberry- 
bushes ; but before I had gone far there was an- 
other wild yet tender triplet of sound somewhere 
on land or sky, and I swung the gun half around 
the horizon before I discovered two plover clear- 
ing the top of the corn scarce twenty-five yards 
away. A double shot at the upland plover was a 
thing we scarcely dared dream of. And a double 
shot at anything was not easy for a boy of my 
age in those days. We were not born of flame, 
swaddled with powder-smoke, and tutored by 
thunder as many ''professionals" are to-day. 
We never shot at anything but game, for ammuni- 
tion cost money, and the loading, and especially 
the cleaning, of a muzzle-loader bore a painful 
resemblance to work. Nor did we see the vast 
importance of making machines of ourselves, cr 
we should have been better shots. But here the 
chance for a double shot on this wild bird stared 
me in the face with dazzling certainty. Too 
often has such delightful assurance upset the 



152 GAME-BIRDS AT HOME. 

repose of soul necessary to utilize the opportunity. 
But not this time : for scarcely did the first bird 
sink into the green at the report of the first barrel 
than the gun was turned upon the second career- 
ing upward, as if bound for some other sphere. 
In line with the two barrels, the gray glimmered 
for an instant, and then, as I pulled the trigger, 
it folded its wings and fell. 

Congratulating myself on that shot, and stoop- 
ing low, I moved down the rows of corn again, 
little thinking how soon I was to make another 
" handsome double." Before I had gone a hun- 
dred yards another plover cleared the corn within 
easy reach. It took me so by surprise that 
the first barrel wrecked the hopes of a promising 
pumpkin on the ground below it, and the second 
ventilated the waving corn-leaves on one side of 
it, while the bird climbed the summer breeze 
with never a feather marred, and on the wings of 
its silvery song bore away toward the zenith. 

There was still plenty of corn left, and on I 
went to repair my shattered pride. I had 
scarcely gone fifty yards before two plover rose. 
They were a little far, but I turned the first one 
over and fringed the leaves of the corn around 



DAYS AMONG THE PLOVER. 153 

the second ; and hardly had I gone a hundred 
feet beyond where the first one fell, when, to my 
astonishment, three more birds rose at about 
twenty-five yards. In less than an hour from the 
time I crossed the fence I had sixteen plover, all 
well-grown birds and in fine condition. 

As suddenly as it began, the shooting stopped. 
It was too good to last. Here and there across 
the sky and along the horizon's farthest rim a 
thread of gray was winding out of sight, while, 
from no one could tell where, came that soft, 
searching sound that seemed never so sweet as 
when all hope of another shot was gone. But no 
more gray rose above that corn, and vainly on 
the next day did I tramp it until it needed re- 
hoeing to insure half a crop. The birds were 
once more themselves, and my luck was one of 
those accidents of the field that seldom befall. 

Golden plover made themselves attractive by 
filling a serious gap in the shooting of the year. 
They used to visit the plowed fields far back 
from the Atlantic coast, and furnish fine sport 
where now no wing is seen or whistle heard. 
The mellow twitter of the woodcock had died 
away in the swamp, while the sharper whistle of 



154 GAME-BIRDS AT HOME. 

his full-feathered wing was not yet heard in the 
yellowing grove. Bob White was still too small, 
as well as too hard to see, and the hare had not 
yet left the thickets and made his form in the 
toadflax or the reddening dewberry-bushes of the 
open. Nor was the whizzing wing of the wild 
duck yet seen along the shore, nor the scaipe 
of the snipe yet heard in the meadow, nor the 
ruffed grouse yet ready in the tangled brake. 
This plover was known inland for only about 
three or four weeks of the year. The fringed 
gentian had not yet closed its blue, sorrel con- 
tinued to tinge the slopes, and the vervain was 
fading but little, when he came to visit the 
freshly-plowed fields of autumn. He seemed to 
come from the coast, for it was only during heavy 
easterly storms that he came in any numbers. 
Up in the garret of the old farm-house, among 
the spinning-wheels and the wasps, we used to 
flatten our noses against the dusty window-panes 
where the rain was driving hard, and watch the 
coming of the birds. 

High in air they came at first, sometimes in 
crescent lines with the horns turned forward, 
sometimes in crescents with the horns turned 



DAYS A MO JVC THE PLOVER. 155 

backward. Over the rim of the woods where 
the chestnut and beech were yellowing, and the 
gum-tree was firing the lingering green, the birds 
rose and dipped, scattered and massed, and rode 
down the storm to the plowed fields which were 
their favorite feeding-ground at this time. 

This plover came with soft trilling whistle rip- 
pling from his throat, whether swinging high 
over the hilltop where crimson tints were creep- 
ing over the maple, or fanning the air with wings 
tremulous with speed above the fragrant buck- 
wheat fields, or skimming low along the corn 
where the pumpkin was yellowing among the 
rows. 

We made our blinds in some dark cedar-bush, 
or where the woolly tails of the clematis were 
whitening over some reddening clump of briers, 
or the crimson of the sumac was nodding over the 
bright purple of the aster. Nothing very scien- 
tific was needed, and a bunch of corn-stalks or 
tumble-weeds often served us well. Good imita- 
tions of the plover for decoys could then be 
bought in New York, and we often helped out 
the stock with dead birds propped with sticks. 
Then came the whistle — a common one with a 



156 GAME-BIRDS AT HOME. 

dried pea rattling below the air-vent, but making 
a very good imitation of the plover's call. 

Sometimes a flock three or four hundred yards 
away would swerve and come for the decoys 
almost at the first sound of the whistle, answering 
it with their tender notes, often so many at once 
they seemed the tremolo of some distant organ. 
When the birds massed in air and set their wings 
to slide down to the decoys, then was the critical 
time with a young shot. Sometimes I could not 
wait, but fired prematurely only to see the flock 
sheer and rise. Sometimes in my excitement 
I could not get what seemed good enough aim 
until they were too far past. And sometimes 
my finger would balk on the trigger and refuse to 
pull when I had good aim. My nerves were not 
helped by the fact that half a dozen farmer's 
brats were lying around the same field with as 
many relics of the Revolution, and liable to spoil 
a good shot for me at any moment by shooting 
clear across the field. The village parson, too, 
was out with his old musket that had not been 
fired since he shot his annual rabbit in the rail- 
heap back of the house the winter before, and, 
as every gun was then supposed to ''kill at a 



DAYS A MO JVC THE PLOVER. 157 

hundred yards," he was liable to shoot at my 
flock if I did not hurry. 

How pretty this plover looks in its soft com- 
binations of brown, black, gray, and white, 
black feet and bill, and white stripe over the eye ! 
And pretty when it wheels and the light flashes 
on its glossy back dotted with gold, and its 
brownish tail barred with gray. What wonder 
we sometimes hastened out before the storm had 
cleared, and shivered in the wet grass to see this 
little visitor spin around the fields! But when 
the purple of the lingering meadow-beauty and 
the soft blue of the lobelia brighten beneath sun- 
light from a clear sky, you need no longer watch 
for specks on the horizon or over the woods 
where the butternut is turning a golden hue 
beside the reddening persimmon. For low down 
they now come over the hedgerows, as if they 
would alight upon the crimson masses of the 
woodbine that entwine the old cedar posts. 
And over the fence on the other side of the field 
comes another line of little dark bodies with hazy 
wings quivering on each side. Now there is the 
crack of a gun from among the red berries of a 
clump of wild rose, three birds come whirling over 



158 GAME-BIRDS AT HOME, 

toearth, and the rest radiate for a moment like a 
fan, then, grouping in a black mass, spin away 
toward the next field. But not long need ^wnj 
gnaw your soul over the success of that rustic 
lout, for over the corn not far away another line 
of dark dots is bearing down upon you with soft 
trill answering your whistle. Well away from 
the other guns it swings, and, stringing out in 
crescent line with one end toward you, sails 
swiftly down toward your decoys. A whirl, a 
flutter, and a medley of white and black and 
brown and golden dots follows the report of the 
first barrel, and as the birds rise and sheer off 
they close for an instant into a dense cloud, from 
which, at the sound of the second barrel, it 
almost rains plover. 



XI. 

THE QUAILS OF CALIFORNIA. 

Quite as interesting as any of the peculiari- 
ties of the valley quail of California is the way 
he can bother not only the novice, but the ex- 
perienced shot from the East who first attempts 
to interview him. 

In December, 1882, a gentleman named Jones 
called on me ; a strong man he was, and a good 
shot. He wanted to know where all those quails 
were that I had been writing about. I was 
always ready for a hunt in those days, and soon 
took him to where we saw dark blue dots scud- 
ding about the green the recent rains had spread 
over the bottom of a little valley, and darting 
here and there among the bushes at the foot of 
the slopes. 

Mr. Jones, who had been loud in his praises 
of what I had written, showed at once that he 

159 



l6o GAME-BIRDS AT HOME. 

had never read a line of it — a painful experience 
that many an author has to go through. Instead 
of advancing on the flock as fast as possible with 
his dog at heel so as to keep him fresh, he began 
to sneak slowly for a sure shot when the quail 
rose. And he sent the dog ahead when he 
already knew where the game was, whereas, on 
account of the scarcity of water and the hot, dry 
air of early winter days in the south which soon 
spoil the scent of the best ones, a dog should 
never be used either to point or retrieve these 
birds when you can as well do it yourself. 

The dog drew to a pretty point on the birds 
over a hundred yards away. But it was exactly 
what you don't want for these quails. A dog as 
steady as one should be for all Eastern game 
will be nowhere in a stern-chase after these little 
chaps, and a stern-chase is the only kind you 
get. Though the dog was pointing by scent, 
most of the flock was in plain view. It was 
composed of dozens of coveys, and scattered 
along the base of the hill for seventy yards or 
more. Between the low bushes dark lines of 
five to ten birds, one behind the other, were 
winding up the hill. Here and there the lines 



THE QUAILS OF CALIFORNIA. l6l 

would stop, form little bunches for a few seconds, 
and then move on again. Everywhere went 
single birds, bobbing their heads, dodging and 
zigzagging about, stopping occasionally to take a 
look at us, then running on again. Here and 
there one hopped upon a stone and sent forth a 
ringing Whit — whit — whit ; while others, gather- 
ing in little squads, kept up a low, muffled Wook — 
zvook — wook — wook — wook — ook-zvookook — wook 
— ook. But all the time the general movement of 
the flock up the hill was just a trifle faster than 
that of Mr. Jones on the level ground. By the 
time he had reached the foot of the hill where he 
first saw them, the birds were about half-way up, 
and the hill was some four hundred feet high. 
There they were, scudding about or trailing in 
lines, with the Whit — whit — whit — zvhit and 
Wook — wook — wook — wook sounding plainly as 
before. 

Jones started up the hill, with his dog point- 
ing all the way and moving up as his master 
went ahead of him ; but, as before, Jones seemed 
to think he would get nearer by going slowly so 
as not to frighten the game. He reached the 
place where the birds had been, about the time 



1 62 GAME-BIRDS AT HOME, 

they reached the top of the hill, a safe distance 
above him. Not at all discouraged, he went on 
again, thinking if they passed over the top of 
the ridge he would have a good chance to get 
close without their seeing him. So with head 
down and gun ready, he sneaked up to the crest 
of the ridge and looked over. From nearly half- 
way down the other slope came the WJiit — whit 
— wJiit and Wook — ivook — ivook again, appar- 
ently about ten yards farther off than they had 
yet been. 

Jones suddenly saw several dark little bodies 
huddled in an open space some forty yards or 
more — it is generally more — down the hill. A 
good shot, he had started out with the intention 
of shooting only at birds on the wing. But the 
most violent scruples against ''a pot-shot" on 
this bird are often removed by less than four 
hundred feet of climbing and ninety degrees of 
the thermometer. Therefore I was not sur- 
prised to see Jones (who had been very free in 
his denunciation of pot-shooters) fire into this 
bunch of birds. The result was the roar of 
hundreds of wings and hundreds of lines of whiz- 
zing and buzzing blue above the brush on the 



THE QUAILS OF CALIFORNIA. 1 63 

hillside below. Into the thickest part of the 
flock rang the second barrel of Jones's gun, with 
the general result of firing into a flock at large 
instead of selecting a single bird. No bird can 
so tempt one to break this good rule as this 
quail can, and no other is so sure to leave one 
without a feather for reward. 

Jones looked for a moment at the space the 
birds had occupied when he fired at them, then at 
me, and then at the dog, maintaining the while 
that discreet silence which often covers the deep- 
est surprise ; then with a smile born of confi- 
dence he went down the hill to where the birds 
were when he fired at them on the ground. The 
dog cantered around, jumped over the bushes, 
snuffed here and there in great style for a few 
minutes, and then retired to the shade of a 
sumac. 

Meanwhile the flock had sailed across a little 
ravine and alighted about half-way up the side 
of the hill on the other side. The quails scat- 
tered over about an acre of ground, but in dark 
lines and little squads they could be seen run- 
ning together again with WJiit — zvhit — zvhit, 
Wook — ivook — ivook sounding from a hundred 



164 GAME-BIRDS AT HOME. 

throats and mingled with their assembling-call 
like Ka — loi — 0, then like OJiio, then like 
K — ivoik — uJi, kiiJi — zvoik — iih, and various 
other combinations. But all this time they were 
increasing the amount of up-hill between them 
and Jones. 

Jones reached the place where they had set- 
tled on the ground. The dog was not half so 
gay as at the last place where they had alighted ; 
and although he drew in good style and came to 
a half point, he had one eye on a green heterom- 
eles. When told to hie on, he hied to the 
shade of that bush, from which, with tongue 
hanging out, he surveyed his master with some- 
thing akin to indifference. Just then from a 
bunch of chemisal to the left of Jones a whizzing 
line of slate-blue, white, and cinnamon rose with 
sharp Chirp — chi7'p — chirp — chii'p that had a 
metallic ring of defiance never heard from any 
other bird. Jones whirled his gun from his 
shoulder and made an elegant shot at the space 
the bird vacated as he pulled the trigger. Quick 
as a flash he fired the other barrel at about the 
right distance ahead of the bird which was by no 
means out of reach. The bird went on without 



THE QUAILS OF CALIFORNIA. 1 65 

the parting of a feather. There was a heavy 
roar of wings again up the hill, and three more 
birds rose around Jones, at which he pointed the 
empty gun with great coolness and remarked ! 

''Confound your impudence: I'll get on to 
you next time." 

By the time Jones reached the top of the hill 
the birds were sounding their alarm-call sixty or 
eighty yards down the slope on the other side. 
I now told him he was not going fast enough 
instead of too fast, and that the birds would run 
away from him all day at that pace. The dog 
seemed to care little what was the matter, and 
took more interest in the shade of a handsome 
live-oak that was nodding over the ridge than 
in the birds or the movements of his master. 
Jones, too, looked as if he did not relish the idea 
of going any faster, for he was loaded down with 
all sorts of clumsy nonsense when one should 
wear the lightest dress for a race with these brill- 
iant runners. Still he thought the advice good, 
and started on a run down the hill. Before he 
knew it the whole flock rose within twenty-five 
yards in a big roaring sheet of dark blue. He 



1 66 GAME-BIRDS AT HOME. 

caught himself in time to send a bird whirHng 
downward with each barrel. 

He then waited in good style for the dog to 
come and find the fallen birds. But the dog 
merely snuffed at a feather with a temporary fit 
of energy, looked around a bit, and began to 
think about shade again. He was worthless for 
want of water and being allowed to run too much 
in hot, dry air before he was actually needed. 

The first bird Jones soon gave up, as in his 
haste he had forgotten to mark it. The second 
one he had marked ; but when he went where he 
was sure it fell, all bushes looked alike and there 
was not a feather to reward his patience. By 
the time he had concluded he could not find 
them and had exhausted his vocabulary on the 
doe, the rest of the flock was almost at the crest 
of the next slope. Some birds are almost always 
left hiding at every place where a flock has risen, 
and two burst here from the cover near his feet 
with a saucy Chirp — chirp — cJiirp. There was a 
quick slam-bang of both barrels of his gun, and 
both birds went whizzing unharmed across the 
ravine that lay between Jones and the next 
slope. 



THE QUAILS OF CALIFORNIA. 1 6/ 

Jones made some remarks about California and 
its quails, and started over the ravine after the 
main flock. Fifty yards up the hill a quail rose 
from the spot where the flock had alighted the 
last time, and, curling around Jones's head, came 
backward toward me. At the report of his gun 
there was a puff of feathers from the bird and it 
went whirling down. When Jones reached the 
spot where it fell he found feathers, but neither 
he nor the dog could find any bird. There was 
a trail of feathers down a steep slope, and this 
Jones and the dog followed, the eyes of the 
master being about as good as the nose of the 
dog. Some distance below Jones heard some- 
thing flutter. He went hastily to the place, and 
found some feathers. It was on the edge of a 
sharp gully, and he concluded the bird was at the 
bottom. He sent the dog down, but no bird 
returned with him. He then went down him- 
self, and in a few minutes, by the aid of some 
bushes, he came scrambling out of the gully, hot 
and tired, and no bird returning with him. 
Meanwhile he was at the foot of the hill again, 
and the flock was probably over the top and 
moving faster than ever. 



1 68 GAME-BIRDS AT HOME. 

** You don't understand them. You could 
have got fifty single shots in going this far. 
But I will show you something better," I said. 

Quarter of a mile away and some three hun- 
dred feet below us lay a long, narrow little 
valley, partly filled with clumps of prickly-pear 
from five to fifteen feet across and from three to 
eight feet high, lying between low hills quite 
bare of cover for some distance. We could see 
dark dots moving swiftly over the patches of 
green grass in the openings, and the soft call 
the quail gives when not alarmed came to us on 
the breeze. 

Jones was horrified at my suggesting a hunt in 
that stuff, as most novices give up the quails at 
once when they fly to such cover. But it is 
often the best of ground, as the birds will not 
leave it when surrounded by bare hills, but will 
fly to and fro in it all day. That is, they once 
did so. There was always plenty of bare ground 
between the clumps of the cactus for good walk- 
ing, and to land the birds on it doubled the skill 
required to make a good bag. 

Even before we had entered the ground we 
heard the sharp WJiit — wJiit — ivJiit — ivJiit of 



THE QUAILS OF CALIFORNIA, 1 69 

alarm, and down the winding openings saw a 
dozen or more dark lines winding amid the 
thorny green. I quickened the pace, and sud- 
denly a quail rose with short and intermitting 
stroke of wing, as if only climbing higher for 
better inspection. Never a prettier shot ; but 
Jones, excited by running, fired as he stopped. 
The bird went whizzing on, followed by a sheet 
of roaring blue, into the thickest of which Jones 
poured his second barrel. The air was filled 
with feathers, and half a dozen quail were flutter- 
ing about among the roots in the center of one 
of the thickest clumps of cactus, where he would 
never get one of them. 

As fast as I could run I followed after the 
flock, which had flown only about one hundred 
yards. As they rose I fired into the air above 
them, wanting only to scare them and not lose 
time at this stage by picking up. At this the 
flock broke some and scattered, but still I kept 
after them, and as most of them rose again I 
fired the other barrel in air. This scattered 
them over a space some two hundred yards long 
in the cactus, and all their noise ceased. 

Jones came up looking intensely disgusted. 



170 GAME-BIRDS AT HOME. 

Of all the quail he had seen he had not yet one 
in hand, and he thought the prospects slimmer 
than ever. His dog seemed of the same opinion, 
and looked at the fearful array of needles on the 
prickly-pear with as much contempt for my 
judgment in selecting hunting-ground as did his 
master. But as we moved along the winding 
avenues amid the grim shrubbery, birds by the 
dozen came whizzing and chirping from out its 
shaggy arms. Some scrambled up with wonder- 
ful speed of foot along the thorny limbs before 
taking wing, while others came darting out 
under full headway. Some curled over our 
heads, others shot out on the opposite side, 
rising into sight for a twinkling in a dark blue 
curve, while others on foot darted along the 
ground to the next clump of cactus. 

There was no waiting for a shot. At almost 
every step there was a whiz on one side, a buzz 
on the other, and a CJiirp — cJiirp — chirp ahead 
or behind, and the report of a gun was followed 
by a dozen blue lines curving and twisting per- 
haps out of the same cactus from which half a 
dozen had risen but a moment before. Jones 
did not know whether he was on foot or in a 



THE QUAILS OF CALIFORNIA. 17 1 

balloon. His gun rattled as fast as he could 
load it, and occasionally a stricken bird went 
whirling into the cactus, or, if it landed on the 
open ground, it fell generally but half killed, 
and in a twinkling was in the nearest bunch of 
cactus, safe from dog or master. 

In fifteen minutes the climax of this was 
reached and the roar and confusion were sud- 
denly gone. So wxre the birds, especially those 
that Jones thought should have been in his 
pocket. He had but three when he should have 
bagged at least fifteen in single shots. But 
the shooting was by no means over. It had 
only settled down. For two hours or more we 
traversed the open places of that strange covert, 
and from the thickest and most threatening 
parts came bird after bird as we passed and re- 
passed them again, again and again. Never 
does the valley quail show to better advantage 
than when he bursts from the outer edge of this 
stuff and goes around you to enter it again. 
Through the bluish haze of his rapid wings you 
see the mottled breast of white and dark with 
cinnamon shadings, the little bluish neck and 
black-and-white head outstretched full length. 



172 GAME-BIRDS AT HOME, 

and the long, dark plume bent backward by 
speed. He looks too pretty to shoot as he 
cleaves the warm sunlight, or, setting his little 
wings, glides into the thickest mass of the thorny 
cactus. 

In a few days Jones learned the dark and de- 
vious ways of the valley quail and became quite 
an expert on them, though he never found them 
as easy shooting as if they would lie to a dog like 
Bob White. After an absence of ten years he 
returned again to California. After quite a hunt, 
in which he missed the welcome call of the 
quail he had before heard in almost every little 
valley and on every hillside, he heard a muffled 
roar of wings. After losing a minute in locating 
the sound, he saw well up the hillside only some 
thirty birds, spread out in line like a fan aimed 
for nearly half the horizon and just clearing the 
top of the ridge. Shooting to scatter them 
would be ridiculous, for they were already as well 
scattered as they could be. That flock was not 
going to bother him by running together again 
before he could reach it. So he scrambled 
up hill with legs nimble with expectation and 
over the ridge, expecting to find the birds hiding 



THE QUAILS OF CALIFORNIA. 1 73 

in the brush just over its top. He went down 
the other side and along it for some space, but 
nothing rose, and there was nothing calHng any- 
where along that hillside or in the gulch at its 
foot or on the other side. Before he reached 
the bottom of the slope there was a buzzing 
sound a hundred yards away on the other side, 
and a dark blue line went around a little point 
of brush. Jones scrambled across ; and just as he 
was nearing the edge of the gully between the 
slopes he heard the buzz of more wings. An 
extra jump landed him on the level ground, but 
the three quails that had made the noise were 
out of reach by the time he brought the gun to 
his shoulder. 

He pressed on faster, and after going about a 
hundred yards a quail sprung at about thirty 
yards. Had it risen from the point of a dog he 
could have caught it with the first barrel, for his 
gun was a good one and well loaded. But 
taking him unawares, this bird was too swift, 
and by the time the shot arrived it had scattered 
enough to let the bird through with the loss of 
only a tail-feather. Remembering the birds 
had crossed the preceding ridge in a line well 



174 GAME-BIRDS AT HOME. 

strung out, Jones beat to the right of where the 
last bird had risen. He found nothing, and had 
just turned around to beat the other side, when 
there was a buzz of wings behind him, and he 
wheeled in time to see a blue curve cross the 
ridge behind a bush. A snap-shot at the bush 
as the bird disappeared behind it brought a 
feather or two sailing back on the air, but the 
most careful search, aided by the nose of a good 
dog, failed to find any bird. 

So far the dog had been unable to get close 
enough to point a bird, and Jones now thought 
that after so much shooting the quails would lie 
more closely, as they did in days of yore. So he 
went to where the right wing of the main flock 
should have alighted after first rising. All this 
side of the hill he beat quite thoroughly, without 
the dog making any signs of smelling anything. 
He was about to quit when he heard a distant 
buzz, and up the hill, from a lot of rocks and 
brush in the head of a steep gulch, saw three or 
four quail wind over the top of the ridge. He 
thought there must be more in that place, and 
went hastily there. The dog snuffed around in 
good style and drew finely, but that was all. 



THE QUAILS OF CALIFORNIA. 175 

Jones then concluded to go over the ridge, 
thinking the last birds would not fly far. He 
and the dog bushwacked the whole of the next 
slope without hearing the buzz of a wing. He 
then thought he would leave this flock and try 
to find a larger one on better ground. Just as 
he turned around to go there was a distant buzz, 
and away to the right two or three birds were 
sailing up a hill. Whereupon Jones concluded 
that the business would have to be learned anew. 
In which he was most eminently correct, for 
the valley quail of California has kept better 
pace with improvements in guns and learned 
more from his persecutors than any other thing 
that lives. 

Jones decided to try the large two-plumed 
quail of the mountains. But he soon found the 
cheap breechloader and the game-butcher had 
penetrated the deepest shades even there, and that 
this quail had learned something. He heard no 
more the tender Ch — cJi — cJi — ch — ch — cJiccceah — 
cheeeah or the silvery Cloi — cloi — cloi that used 
to ring along the morning hills. He found, as 
with the valley quail, that a dog was more use- 
ful than before to find the flock at first, but of 



176 GAME-BIRDS AT HOME. 

little use after the birds were scattered. When 
his dog first came to a point in some dense 
brush through which a whiz of blue went so 
swiftly that he had no time to look along the 
barrel of his gun, but, after a quick shot, 
dimly saw the blue whirl over, he felt proud. 
Yet he was sadly astray when he thought 
he was to get many more shots, even as hard 
as that. Vainly the dog drew among the 
heavy manzanita on the hill or in the deep 
masses of ferns and horse-tails in the gulch. The 
more Jones expected a rise out of the next 
bush the more he did not see it. Far ahead 
he could occasionally see a dark speck scud 
across some opening ahead of the slowly-crawl- 
ing dog, but not a wing beat the air near enough 
to shoot at. 

Jones then quickened his pace, but found it 
took much faster traveling than before to keep 
up with the birds. By the time he had scram- 
bled up hill among the brush fast enough to 
force a quail into flight, he was so out of breath 
and in such an awkward position that he could 
not hit anything even if close enough for cer- 
tainty. And when he did hit a quail, it was 



THE QUAILS OF CALIFORNIA. 1 7/ 

generally at such a distance that it was not 
killed instantly, and fluttered so far down the 
steep hillside before stopping that, by the time 
he and the dog had found it, it took as much 
work to find the rest of the flock as at first. 



XII. 

WILSON'S SNIPE. 

Few birds kindle so quick a fire in the sports- 
man's bosom as this little rover, whether rising 
from the meadow at the breaking of spring or 
heard high in the evening sky when in autumn 
he arrives from the North. Whether you call 
him jack-snipe or English snipe or by his real 
name, Wilson's snipe, he has ever a strange 
attraction. Much of this is in the defiant 
manner and seeming consciousness of superiority, 
qualities which lend so much charm to the valley 
quail of California. This snipe is just keen 
enough to require the constant polishing of one's 
wits and eyes, yet not so wild as to make his 
capture too difficult. When woodcock, quail, or 
grouse hide, it is with the hope that you will not 
discover them : and without a good dog, well 
trained, you rarely will. But this snipe deliber- 
ately awaits your coming. When he squats, he 

178 



WILSON'S SNIPE. 179 

seems to know you are coming close enough to 
compel him to rise, and seems to take pleasure in 
giving you an opportunity to shoot at him. 
Then he lies just close enough to tempt you, 
expecting to escape by superior quickness and 
twisting flight. 

As the first game of spring in many places, this 
bird fills an aching void in many a breast. Do 
you remember the day the frost first relaxed its 
grip upon the meadow ? Loud howled the wind 
of March, and scowled the leaden sky, yet you 
plunged through mud and jumped the foaming 
ditch as lightly as on a June morning. Not yet 
had the frog broken the silence left in winter's 
wake ; no liquid note around the old box in the 
garden where the blue-bird makes his yearly 
home ; no sound from the purple grackles in the 
bunch of pines upon the hill ; no dots upon the 
sky where the wild duck should be hastening 
home from the South. Yet here you tramp 
through a remnant of snow, and there you twist 
your feet loose from devouring mud, looking 
happy and expectant. And the dog dashes 
through cold water and flounders through half- 
frozen slush, while the chilly wind whistles over 



l80 GAME-BIRDS AT HOME. 

his wet coat ; yet he wags his tail, and looks as if 
he would not go back to the fire even if you 
should. Many the acres of dreary dead grass 
and chilly, sour slop through which you tear and 
splash your way, with never a sight or sound of 
life but the dark line and dismal caw of the 
winter's crow across the sky. Yet on you go, 
though your fingers are numb ; and on goes the 
dog, though never was a day more hard upon one. 
Suddenly the dog goes more slowly ; you hasten 
along toward him. Yes, he is actually drawing 
to a point. And before you are very near him, 
and before he settles to rigid certainty, a sharp 
Scaipe breaks upon your anxious ear, and from 
the dead grass some twenty yards ahead of the 
dog there mounts a bit of gray, seeming almost 
too small to shoot at. With a quick twist, 
about the moment you pull the trigger, the gray 
tacks away on a new line, leaving your shot 
whizzing along on the old one ; and as you whirl 
the second barrel around and pull the trigger be- 
fore he has time to twist again, he is just far 
enough to ride untouched through one of the 
openings between the shot that the best gun will 
leave at this distance. 



WILSON'S SNIPE. l8l 

The snipe seems to know just how to do it, 
and actually tempts you to another trial. Is 
anything more ravishing than the way he now 
plays with you? Rejoicing in the breeze and 
cleaving the swiftest gale faster than any other 
thing that lives, the gay wanderer spins up wind 
for a while, and then darts skyward as if on a 
visit to the stars. Changing its mind as quickly 
as the lightning, it darts now on one tack, 
then on another, when, wheeling in long circling 
sweep, back it comes like a boomerang. A few 
more zigzag courses, as if to warn you against 
being over-confident of its return, then up darts 
the gray again, with sudden whirl falls into a 
spiral line and, with sharp bill toward earth, down 
it comes, pitches around backward, and alights 
within two hundred yards, perhaps, of the place 
where you last shot at it. Do you remember 
how many times you chased that bird around 
eighty acres of desolate bog before you finally 
got within reach of him? And do you remember 
how large you felt when his audacity finally 
failed and he gyrated into the mud ? In the 
gun-store where you showed that night the first 
snipe of the season you were the hero of tlie hour, 



1 82 GAME-BIRDS AT HOME. 

and felt more proud of that little bird than many 
a man does over a moose. Why it is, no man 
can tell. And how much would he gain if he 
could? 

There are those who say this snipe is compara- 
tively easy to hit when once you have learned 
the secret of its flight. But who learns it until 
with the old dog he hunts only in dreams before 
the fire? Although generally found on open 
ground, this bird does not confine himself to it, 
and in any sort of cover he can make it highly 
interesting for the quickest and surest shots. 
Do you not remember how, amid the wild rice 
left by the receding water, you heard the defiant 
Scaipe so hard to locate in time, and caught 
sight of the gray just as it vanished on a new 
tack through the tall stalks? That was not so 
easy to hit, was it? How about the time you 
poured vain thunder through the cat-tails around 
the muddy shore from which the snipe had just 
sprung, and above the edge of the smoke saw the 
intended victim careering aloft in a direction 
entirely different from the one on which it started? 
Did you ever, on the boggy meadow partly cov- 
ered with brush higher than your head, see this 



WILSON'S SNIPE. 183 

bird spring from behind a bush just thin enough 
to give a glimpse of gray, and then twist so 
quickly that your finger could not resist in time 
the impulse to pull off the gun on the old line? 
And what did you think when the next one rose 
on open ground and in a twinkling whipped be- 
hind such a bush, with the flame streaming, as 
you thought, across its path, yet over the top of 
the bush it rose triumphant against the blue sky 
at a rate of speed that left the shot from your 
second barrel behind it? 

The best shooting I have ever seen on this 
bird was in 1864 on the shores of Senachwine 
Lake in Illinois. The water was slowly receding 
after an early autumn rise, leaving along the 
water's edge a strip some twenty feet wide, in the 
right stage of moisture to make plenty of worms 
for this ravenous little feeder, while the grass that 
followed the falling water made him the best of 
cover. On the upper edge of this the ground 
was dry enough for good walking. The numbers 
of snipe concentrated on that strip, which was 
several miles long, seem now quite incredible. 
But there was then only one person in Marshall 
County who ever shot at them, and he but little. 



1 84 GAME-BIRDS AT HOME, 

All game was there valued by the thump it made 
on striking ground. With no dog and no more 
labor than in an after-dinner stroll, I have shot 
snipe on that ground about as fast as I could 
load the gun and pick up the birds. Waiting for 
a shot was the last thing that troubled me, for 
there seemed at times a bird to every square yard, 
and there were few days for six weeks when a 
bird would not spring within shot at almost every 
step I took ahead. Most of them curled around 
sideways over the water when I was walking 
down wind, though the ground was so open on 
the land side that there was little trouble in re- 
trieving those that fell there. But there was no 
need of walking down wind, for there were enough 
straight-away shots within easy range. About 
the only question involved was, like that of duck- 
shooting, to land the birds where it would not 
take too long to retrieve them, and let all shots 
go that would not accomplish this. 

Like the woodcock this snipe defies the pot- 
shooter, while almost all other game-birds at 
times present the fairest of chances for the rank- 
est of murder. But on this ground occurred a 
piece of pot-shooting on these snipe so remark- 



WILSON'S SNIPE. 185 

able that, incredible as it will seem, I must 
tell it. 

One of my dearest hunting-companions there 
had long looked with pitying eye on my de- 
pravity in shooting so small a bird as Wilson's 
snipe. But once about mid-day, when ducks were 
slow in coming and he was tired of smoking, he 
left me for a while. I soon heard him shoot 
about a quarter of a mile away, and within the 
next thirty minutes he shot about a dozen times 
at the same place. In considerably less than an 
hour from the time he left he tossed me a bunch 
of snipe, remarking, with all the coolness imagi- 
nable, '^ I thought I would have to show you how 
to do it." I was astounded to find twenty-seven 
snipe in the bunch, and all still warm. There 
was no one about from whom he could have got 
them. There were indeed times when one could 
average a shot a minute with a breech-loader for 
several minutes. But my friend was using a 
muzzle-loader. Allowing for instantaneous load- 
ing and no missing, how did he pick them up in 
that time? He sat and smoked long in silence, 
eying me through the smoke and treating the 
performance as a matter of course for him. I 



1 86 GAME-BIRDS AT HOME. 

dared not play the greenhorn by asking. Finally 
he took pity on me and said : 

** Hanged if I didn't sit down behind a bush 
and pot 'em all in one spot, sometimes three or 
four at a shot." 

I went to see the place. There was an open- 
ing four or five feet wide, formed by an old low- 
water road and cattle-paths. This was bare of 
grass or cover, and ran through the strip of grass 
along the lake in which the birds were so plenty. 
Across this opening snipe w^ere trotting in twos, 
threes, and even fours, as well as singly, and the 
feathers on the ground told the story. I believe 
one could have shot snipe there all that afternoon 
at about the same rate. 

Another most singular kind of shooting I once 
had on this bird was in Mexico. Few parts of 
the United States ever afford the right conditions 
for it. Along a line of sloughs with very flat 
margins the grass was nibbled very close by the 
hungry cattle, it being winter, the dry time of 
the year. Over it snipe wild as hawks were trot- 
ting, but all out of range. At from sixty to a 
hundred yards many of them would squat and 
hide in what little cover the gray grass-stumps 



WILSON'S SNIPE, 187 

afforded ; but when I got within twenty-five or 
thirty yards they whirled away on high, and after 
triangulating the skies for a while concluded that 
the old place was safe enough, and came pitching 
swiftly down to alight within a few rods, perhaps, 
of the place where started. They made fine 
shooting with the shot-gun, but I had with me a 
rifle of small caliber, shooting a sharp-pointed ball 
that tore birds no more than shot, and I soon 
found there was even more fun in shooting them 
with that than with shot. 

One used only to the target might think it an 
easy matter to hit a snipe at twenty-five or thirty 
paces. But your target is always at the same 
distance and in the same position of light. It is 
also clear and well defined. These snipe made, 
moreover, the very finest marks at which I ever 
shot ; and so extreme was the accuracy required, 
I had to clean the rifle with water every few 
shots. The head of a squirrel in the highest tree, 
or that of a ruffed grouse motionless in the dark 
shade of a pine, the faintest shade of gray or 
brown that ever marked a deer in dense and dis- 
tant covert, were no finer marks than these little 
birds at twenty-five yards. Squatting close to the 



155 GAME-BIRDS AT HOME, 

ground, they showed but half an inch, at best, 
of faint gray or brown above the neutral tints of 
the faded grass-stumps. Why they were so wild 
I could not divine ; but it was only by moving 
very slowly and using the keenest of eyesight, 
trained from boyhood on game, that the little 
brown or gray line could be distinguished from 
the thousand bits of dead wood, scraps of dried 
manure, dead leaves, and other things of the same 
color and size. And when the game was located 
to a certainty, and fancy could make out the long 
bill lying ahead of the faint line of gray or brown, 
to distinguish the color through the sights of the 
rifle and hold them on the center with that exact- 
ness that the rifle demands for success on such 
fine marks called for the fineness of sight and 
steadiness of nerve that can be kept in order only 
by constant practice. Any attempt to get close 
enough for certainty was quite sure to result in a 
Scaipc, and a darting line of gray that no one 
is fool enough to shoot at with a rifle if he knows 
anything about it. Yet that very thing made 
the shooting most delightful ; and though I could 
have got far more game with the shot-gun, I used 
nothing but the little rifle after the first day. 



WILSON'S SNIPE. 189 

For abundance of birds with comparative ease 
in hunting, the boggy meadows of Cahfornia are 
now hard to excel. The best shooting, too, is in 
midwinter, when there is Httle to hunt in the 
Eastern States. Much of the ground, especially 
in the South, is hard enough to drive over with 
a wagon and walk over with no difficulty, while 
it is still wet enough to furnish abundant food 
for this hungry little tramp. Sometimes on the 
warm still days of midwinter it is one continual 
Scaipe, scaipe^ scaipe, on such ground, and a 
dozen or more of the little gray cruisers are in 
the air at once. Here one spins away on a line 
so straight and long that he seems bound for 
yonder mountain whose snowy top rises in hoary 
majesty above long lines of fleecy cloud that 
along its breast look dark by the contrast. 
Another, after starting for several different quar- 
ters of the universe in as many seconds, concludes 
the climate right here is good enough, and whirls 
around backward and pitches into the edge of 
the tall marsh-grass beside the slope where the 
bluebells are blowing. Another starts off as 
though he would cross the sea that lies afar in 
undimpled blue beneath the soft bright sky ; 



190 GAME-BIRDS AT HOME. 

then away he wheels for the broad reach of plain 
on whose carpet of green rolling in so many 
shades the httle plover is trotting and the wild 
goose is bathing in the sun ; then off he goes for 
the hills, where the dark green of the manzanita 
is brightening into new life and the tall shaft 
of the yucca opening at the top into its great 
panicle of greenish white. But no, this doesn't 
suit him, and he whirls away for the lagoon, 
where the burnished green of the mallard's head 
is shining, where the white of the canvas-back 
gleams on the open water, and the little cin- 
namon teal is drifting along the edges. Here in 
the dense ranks of the rushes that stand yet 
green in winter's noon, where the voice of the 
king-rail rings along the shore and the red wings 
and yellow throats of hosts of blackbirds flash 
amid the cat-tails, he will surely alight, for the 
shores are muddy and there is both food and 
safety. But no, he rejoices in the storm, and 
fain would ride again the whirlwind of your fire, 
and back he comes on a long tack, and with his 
peculiar corkscrew spiral down he darts out of 
the blue and settles perhaps right in your course, 
scarcely a hundred and fifty yards away. Per- 



WILSON'S SNIPE, 191 

haps also he doesn't, for he has of late learned 
much about improvements in guns. 

Here, too, he is often found on spots of wet 
ground so small that in the East it would be 
quite absurd to look for snipe of any kind. 
Where in some little spring run the watercress 
darkens the bubbling water with its rank green, 
and the wild celery, sprawling over the edges, 
makes the air fragrant with its rich odor, this 
little roaming beauty may rise when you least 
expect it. Where on the big plain the rising of 
some subterranean water has made a little wet 
spot of a few yards square, the only moisture 
perhaps in miles, there, among the few tules that 
rear their arrowy shafts of green, he may be often 
found ; and even thousands of feet above the sea 
where a green meadow is sunk into the moun- 
tain's back, or a spring bog shines near its crest, 
there, too, this little darling is often found at 
home. 



XIII. 

SALT-WATER BIRDS. 

To many the shooting along the shores of 
inlets from the ocean is even more attractive 
than that of the uplands, and I must confess 
that the smell of salt water stirs in me some very 
delightful recollections. Probably the largest 
assortment and quantity of ''shore birds," or 
*'bay birds" as they are commonly called, are 
now on the Pacific coast, where they are not yet 
appreciated as they will be later. 

At the mouth of the Colorado River and the 
adjacent shores of the Gulf of California the 
waders are more abundant than I have ever seen 
them elsewhere, and it is doubtful if any part of 
the United States can now show the quantity 
and variety there to be seen almost any day in 
the winter. The shores are long and low, pro- 
tected from heavy surf by miles of shallow water, 

192 



SALT-WATER BIRDS. 1 93 

SO that almost any flat-bottomed boat can with 
safety coast miles of this open sea. Over the 
water rings the clear call of the curlew, and in 
its shallow edge you may see his buff coat as 
he wades about and plies his sickle-shaped bill. 
Beside him, with bill as long, but curved the 
other way as if meant to feed on manna from 
Heaven, the avocet in snowy coat and wings of 
jet stands fat and happy. On almost every 
square rod of the shore the mottled colors of 
the willet blend into gray, and beside him plays 
the same yellow-leg that on the bars of some of 
the Atlantic streams has stirred such tumult in 
so many boyish souls. In sober gray the san- 
derling trots along the mud-flats, and flashes of 
white and black come from where sandpipers 
whisk and whirl about as if little time were 
allowed them to get anywhere. Here a trim 
bill and gamy tints make the phalarope seem 
of finer blood than the rest, and there the dow- 
itcher with longer bill, more slender head, and 
richer colored breast airs himself as if the finest 
gentleman in the crowd. Among them is an 
occasional gleam from the bright black and 
white of the oyster-catcher, whose shorter bill 



194 GAME-BIRDS AT HOME. 

and stouter body make him seem a bit out of 
place among the trim figures of his companions. 
Even the turn-stone seems a trifle lonely for the 
same reason, though his pure jet and snowy 
white with slight tinges of reddish brown show 
the shore bird beyond mistake. Among these 
the stilt's lithe figure moves with dignity on its 
long legs, and over them with tender whistle 
plover whiz until in places every foot of the 
shore seems alive at the ebbing of the tide. 
The birds are harder then to reach than at flood- 
tide, when out on the grassy flats and hugging 
the dry shores; but to see life as now rarely 
seen elsewhere, ebb-tide on these flats is the 
time. 

Of birds that love the sounding shore the 
black brant of the Pacific coast is prince. This 
is not the sea-brant of the Atlantic coast, but 
bcrniciila nigricans^ an entirely different bird, 
and the finest and most gamy of American 
water-fowl. It is found in great abundance on 
the upper Pacific coast, breeding far in the 
northern wilds. Those that come far south in 
winter are very particular. Most all the bays 
and inlets of the California coast they skip en- 



SALT-WATER BIRDS. 1 95 

tirely until they reach San Diego Bay. In that 
and in False Bay three miles north of it they 
once blackened hundreds of acres of water at a 
time. Then everything is skipped again for 
almost two hundred miles, when the Bay of San 
Quentin is found full of them. This brant mi- 
grates only at night and over the sea. It despises 
the land, and will not even cross a small point 
unless it is very far around. Occasionally at low 
tide one may be waddling on the mud-flats, but 
the vast majority never leave the salt water. 

A few years ago these California coast bays 
were alive with life that made the soft win- 
ter days spent upon them with a boat a charm- 
ing recreation. Singly and in flocks pelicans, 
both white and gray, flapped heavily by, now 
in a spiral line plunging into the water, then 
sitting lazily on the surface a moment to 
swallow the captured fish, then rising again in 
air to repeat the performance. With lazy wing 
large white gulls wheeled around your head ; 
with still slower wing large gray ones lounged in 
the sunny air, small white ones bustled about, 
and smaller gray ones displayed still more 
energy. The merganser and the cormorant 



196 GAME-BIRDS AT HOME. 

drifted on the smooth water, while divers of all 
sizes rose and sank or floated in it with only- 
neck or head above the surface. Many were so 
tame that, standing up in the boat when the 
water was still, you could see them dart around 
below and snap little fish with forward or side- 
wise stroke of the long neck and sharp bill with 
a dexterity quite incredible in such a resisting 
force as water. Here, swiftly descending from 
on high, the snowy tern broke the water with 
a splash ; there fish-ducks and butter-balls 
skimmed the surface with whistling wing, while 
teal, mallards, and canvas-backs dotted it far and 
near. But among them you would look in vain 
for a black brant, for they are very aristocratic 
and rarely associate with the common herd of 
water-fowl. Far out from the shore, however, 
you could see thousands of dark dots on the 
bright sheen of the water, some looming above 
it in a faint mirage, black above and white be- 
neath, and from their direction you might hear 
a babel that comes from no other living throats. 
But little would you gain by rowing toward 
them. Years ago they were far too wary to 
approach. One had to wait until they began 



SALT-WATER BIRDS. I97 

to fly ; and fly they would not until ebbing 
of the tide. 

The decoys well set, ensconced in a good 
blind along some point, we have not long to 
wait. At the turning of the tide ** bay birds" 
begin to move. First come the curlew in large 
flocks, with buff vests and brown coats shining 
alternately in the sun as they pitch and twist in 
their flight. With long curved bills they come 
almost directly toward us, their penetrating call 
ringing clear and full along the shore. No pret- 
tier chance to gather in a few ; and there is no 
danger of disturbing any brant, for they have 
not begun to fly. Here comes a mob of willet, 
varying through all shades of gray as changing 
light plays upon them. And here you may 
have a cross-fire on a volley of plover from the 
other direction. And with another barrel you 
might send whirling into the water a stilt that 
comes along unsuspicious of danger. 

But it is soon time to let all these go, for over 
the low ridge of sand where the froth of the 
breakers is tossed against the blue of the sky a 
long dark line rises. Lengthening, sinking, and 
shortening, then rising and lengthening again, 



1 98 GAME-BIRDS AT HOME. 

the line comes swiftly on, changing fast into a 
string of black beads. Beside each bead a 
flickering motion becomes plain, and this soon 
changes into the rapid beat of dusky wings. 

Swiftly the line advances, the scores of birds 
that compose it growing larger and darker by 
the instant, yet they ride the warm air as lightly 
as a flight of arrows. Though a little larger 
than mallard ducks, the flight of these brant 
appears less labored by contrast, and their wings 
seem to quiver with speed instead of beating the 
air. Soon each bird is a revolving maze of 
black and white, and then they set their wings 
and glide smoothly downward, almost grazing 
the water some twenty yards beyond our de- 
coys, and showing a broad skirt of white below 
the swarthy breast, and a snowy collar around a 
long jet-black neck. With a hoarse Wa — ook^ 
wa — ook, wa — ook^ wa — ook from a score of 
throats, the flock sweeps past our decoys in even 
line. Keep perfectly still, for they are too far 
to shoot and they may return. On they go some 
fifty yards, when the line lengthens and rises in 
a long string with black wings and backs glisten- 
ing in the bright sun. 



SALT-WATER BIRDS. IQQ 

Several hundred yards they go, when the lino 
swings with wondrous precision, and back it 
comes, headed directly toward us. Make not a 
motion, and keep as low as possible, for few 
birds of their size can sheer off with the speed 
of these at the slightest suspicion of danger. 
The ends of the line fold back, and it bears off 
a bit as it changes into a wedge-shaped mass. 
For a moment each dark wing fans the air with 
rapid stroke, then as quickly each is set in rigid 
curve, the air begins to hiss beneath their de- 
scending speed, and they turn themselves upward 
and set their wings forward to alight. But sud- 
denly a raucous Wa — ook bursts from a dozen 
throats, and in a twinkling the orderly array of 
descending black turns into a huddle of white 
and jet as with rapid stroke of wing the whole 
flock wheels skyward and outward. 

Quick they are, but not quite quick enough 
to escape a quick shot. For as the first barrel 
of one gun spouts fire over the water, the last 
bird folds its black wings, droops its dark neck, 
and down through the soft sunlight it sinks with 
a splash into the bay. Before the smooth sur- 
face breaks beneath its weight a shining whirl of 



200 GAME-BIRDS AT HOME. 

white and black follows it at the report of a 
second barrel. A third barrel rings over the 
bay ; another brant halts in its course and sinks 
with heavily laboring wing nearly to the water, 
twists sidewise with a jerk as a fourth barrel 
bellows into the confusion, then seaward it 
stretches its white-collared, neck and, skimming 
the water, fades away in a rapid alternation of 
black and white. 

Before the last flock is out of sight another 
dark line rises over the sand-spit where the surf is 
grumbling. The brant we first saw in the bay 
were but a small portion of all that frequent it. 
Most of them are out at sea during the flow of 
the tide, feeding in the beds of kelp, and at the 
ebb they return. Now rising, now lowering, 
but swift and straight in a long wedge-shaped 
column, the black ranks come on. Down the 
center of the bight where our blind is placed 
they fly until within some four hundred yards, 
when the head of the column turns a little, and 
directly toward the decoys the whole mass bends 
its way. The air sings beneath their stiffening 
wings, then comes the sharp, rushing sound as 
the birds set them to alight, then the splash of 



SALT-WATER BIRDS. 201 

water as the lower ones settle among the decoys. 
As we rise in the blind the whole mass is turned 
into a laboring turmoil of black and white, with 
Wa — ook, wa — ook, wa — ook clanging from a hun- 
dred white-collared throats. Four barrels flame 
from the blind, and three brant sink with sullen 
splash. Two more lag behind their fast-retreat- 
ing comrades, one gradually rising and overtaking 
them, the other settling lower and lower, until, 
cleaving a long furrow in the smooth surface of 
the bay, it floats dead nearly a half-mile away. 

Beyond where the curlew are flitting along 
the wet shore, and the gull is winding his airy 
way ; beyond where the snipe are whisking over 
the blue waters, and the ever-hungry pelican 
with heavy plunge is shivering the smooth 
mirror beneath, our eyes are again fixed in deep 
expectation. What countless hordes of the 
nobility of water-fowl have streamed over that 
sand-spit in the ages gone ! And how long be- 
fore the whole winter shall pass with never a 
dark-dotted line rising into the blue sky beyond 
it! 

But a soft winnowing of the air behind dis- 
turbs our reflections and reminds us it is not 



202 GAME-BIRDS AT HOME. 

from the sea alone that these birds come. Too 
late the discovery, for quick as the shying of the 
swiftest duck is the wheeling of this active little 
goose. Wa — ook^ zva — ook^ wa — ook resounds 
from amid the iviff^ "^^ifft "^iff of sheering pinions, 
and before the guns can be turned upon them 
the brant are out of reach. Vainly the fire 
streams toward them ; not a twitch in the black 
ranks ; not a dusky feather parts its hold. 

And now the armies of brant are gathering in 
earnest, for the tide is half out and the time for 
the grand march come. Thus far we have seen 
only the skirmish-line. But now they are com- 
ing in battalions. Some are in long lines, point 
foremost, some in wedge-shaped masses, others 
in crescent lines, others in converging strings. 
Vainly you seek the motive for this activity. 
The brant are not feeding, nor on the way to 
feed. This particular stage of the tide seems no 
better adapted to wing exercise than any other 
stage, and yet nearly every brant in the land is 
in motion. Still, they relax no caution, and 
unless all is quiet in the blind it is vain to expect 
a close shot. And the majority of the flocks 
aim for the decoys, and if not disturbed will 



SALT-WATER BIRDS. 203 

settle among them. Though all the brant now 
want to fly and seem to have a strange aversion 
to the water, no sooner do they see the decoys 
than down they glide toward them — the best 
illustration of the adage, "One fool makes 
many." 

And so flock after flock sets its wings and 
goes hissing down to the decoys in perfect array 
and swiftly as a swooping hawk, until the first 
broadside is poured into the swarthy line, and 
the second into the throbbing whirl of white and 
black into which the orderly ranks are instantly 
changed. 

None of the winged myriads from the North 
defy the hunter's fire like this dark wanderer 
from home. Sometimes two or three birds go 
splashing below as a broadside opens upon a 
flock, but more often only one comes down, 
while another perhaps careens a little and lags 
behind a few moments, then rights himself and 
overtakes his comrades or settles slowly into the 
far-distant water. Here comes a flock so glossy, 
as the sun shines from their beating wings and 
white skirts, that they seem within easy reach ; 
yet at the roar of the guns the line merely 



204 GAME-BIRDS AT HOME. 

lengthens, swerves and rises, and not even a 
feather comes whiffling down. Here comes 
another flock so close that we see the dark vests 
and snowy underclothes pictured in the smooth 
water between them and us. In abiding confi- 
dence we open a full battery upon them, yet the 
only result is a whirl of white and black, a 
clamor of hoarse throats, and increased speed in 
the departing line. 



XIV. 

THE WILD TURKEY. 

To become expert in hunting the wild turkey 
one must be almost raised upon its range. On 
nearly all other game one can have some success 
with limited experience if he be a natural hunter 
and a good shot, and can keep cool. But these 
qualities are not enough for success with the 
turkey. One may indeed catch him napping at 
long intervals. But this is too unreliable. One 
may also get a shot by putting one's self abso- 
lutely under some backwoods guide who calls 
the turkey to him. But this is like shooting a 
moose that an Indian has called to you, or a deer 
that some guide rows you to in the water. This 
is doing the dirty work while some one else does 
the noble part of the business. Something in 
my nature always made me rebel against pulling 
the trigger for any one else. It was probably 

205 



206 GAME-BIRDS AT HOME, 

meanness, but if I could not find game myself I 
did not want it. 

Thus, not being 'Miative, and to the manner 
born," I never became a genuine turkey-hunter; 
and, hunting alone, never had the success I have 
had with other game. But I have felt enough 
bounding of the pulse in the deep woods to teach 
me that the noblest of all American game is the 
turkey. 

When in the morning of early spring the roll 
of the old gobbler breaks upon your ear from 
the distant timber along the river-bottom or the 
mountain-side, your sleep is done. The tender 
Boo — woo — zvoo of the pinnated grouse, the mel- 
low Bob white of the quail, or the sweet Ril — 
wil — HI of the upland plover all send their peculiar 
thrill through your breast, yet they lull you to 
sleep again. But when the wild gobble of the old 
bird rings upon your ear from afar, nothing can 
hold you in bed. Nor need any one tell you 
it is useless to try to sneak close enough for a 
shot at him. You are as determined to try it 
as to run after a deer that has been started. 

With keen eye scanning every spot and motion 
in the woods far ahead, you move with cautious 



THE WILD TURKEY. 20^ 

step, and hope mounting ever higher as the gob- 
bler's defiance sounds nearer. The squirrel, as 
from tree to tree he flings his graceful form above 
your path, seems contemptible now ; and the 
raccoon, stretched upon some big limb to catch 
the first beams of the rising sun, you hardly 
deem worthy of a glance. Little more does the 
ruffed grouse attract your attention as he dashes 
the morning dew from the whitening plum-tree, 
or the woodcock whirling out from among the 
strange leaves of the pitcher-plant. 

Again he gobbles; yes, it is plainly closer, 
but still far away: and " far away" in the woods 
is much longer than in the open. On you sneak 
where the wild grape is opening its little clusters 
of flowers ; over the fallen log where the wood- 
bine is twining its soft green you step with extra 
care ; and under the spreading dogwood whose 
pure white involucres cover its leaves like snow, 
you stop to listen. It suddenly occurs to you 
that it is some time since the last gobble rang 
over the tree-tops. All of a sudden the woods 
seem very lonesome without that gobbling. A 
vast solitude is about you, which you just begin 
to realize as the dreadful suspicion creeps to 



208 GAME-BIRDS AT HOME. 

your soul that the gobbler is himself going to 
take a hand in the morning's program. The 
heavy reveille of the big pileated woodpecker on 
the storm-scarred head of some patriarch of the 
forest only intensifies this loneliness, and the far- 
ofT tinkle of the bell on some settler's cow — the 
only sound of man that mars the silence of the 
virgin forest — makes it still more lonely, as the 
painful truth steals upon you that you are 
mightily alone. 

Late in summer, when the young are almost 
full grown and you can hunt turkeys with a dog, 
what a thrill fresh scratchings sent through you, 
and how you studied the tracks the big birds had 
left in the moist earth ! Fragrance from clusters 
of purpling fox-grapes made the woods more 
suggestive of game than ever, and the jar of 
leaves beneath the spring of the squirrel brought 
the gun with convulsive jerk half off your 
shoulder. Do you remember how, down in the 
edge of the dark timber of the river-bottom 
where ivy was reddening over the moss-covered 
stump, and trumpet-vines yellowing over the 
leaning basswood, everything whispered of — 
turkey? And what a moment was that when 



THE WILD TURKEY. 2O9 

in the distance you heard a faint Putt — puttputt^ 
and the sound of heavy wings in flight, and ran 
dashing through dense ranks of beggar-ticks and 
dodging around cat-briers in vain hope of a shot ! 
If you had been still you might have had a shot 
at one or more of them afterward, but your rush 
and racket put that out of the question within 
any reasonable time. Still, you enjoyed it all the 
same and murmured something about its being 
better to have loved and lost than never to have 
loved at all. Which many a one has indorsed. 

A great day was that when, after practicing 
on different kinds of turkey-call, you went out 
to try them. The wing-bone you found to need 
too much practice and coolness. It was more 
easy than the rest to make a false note on, and 
as you were sure to be nervous at the first trial 
it was not safe to rely on it. For the same 
reasons you abandoned trying to call with your 
throat ; and the green leaf and piece of thin 
rubber in the mouth were equally unsafe. The 
bit of cow-horn with a wooden plug and a nail 
in it to be scraped on a whetstone came nearer 
the requirements of a tyro ; but the little wooden 
box with projecting edge to be scraped on the 



2IO GAME-BIRDS AT HOME. 

stock or barrel of the gun seemed the most con- 
venient, and after a few trials of it you could 
almost see a whole flock of turkeys marching 
upon your blind. 

The great day came, and you scattered a flock. 
Little trouble to do that, provided you could 
find them and did not walk so slowly as to let 
them run away from you. You made a blind 
beside a fallen log under the shadow of big gray 
toadstools, drew over it the yellowing garlands 
of the bitter-sweet and the reddening branches 
of the young maple, and sat down to try the 
call. How nicely it worked, and how steady 
your nerves! What mighty expectations fired 
your burning heart ! Few days in life like these ; 
few minutes in the day ! 

It suddenly strikes you that nothing in the 
turkey line is coming. A gray squirrel descends 
a big tree but a few feet from you and, with head 
downwards and tail flirting, speaks his little piece 
with explosive emphasis, as if ordering you out 
of his kingdom ; but in vain you scan the dim 
aisles of the forest for the bobbing head of a 
turkey, and vainly you listen for the plaintive 
yelp of the old hen. Surely you have not called 



THE WILD TURKEY. 211 

too often or too loud. You have been duly 
warned about that, and you think you have the 
lesson. Like many another lesson, it is easy until 
you come to apply it. But you believe you are 
right, and on you go. The chewink trots around 
you with mincing tread, scratches up dead leaves, 
and with sorrowful tone, as if conscious he soon 
must go, replies with his little two-notes to the 
piping of the robin, whose shrill treble has such 
a different tone from the carol of spring. Sud- 
denly there is a faint rustling of dead leaves on 
the right, and a ruffed grouse comes walking 
gracefully along, as if all the world were his for 
the day. Another, and another, and nearly a 
dozen more but a trifle smaller follow a few 
yards in front of you. Here one scratches in 
the leaves; there one mounts another fallen log; 
here comes another toward you as if he would 
enter your blind ; one stops and preens his 
feathers, and three or four more flutter into a 
thorn-apple to see if the fruit is yet ripe. What 
graceful birds, as they wheel and circle with 
swelling breasts all mottled with snow and jet 
alternating with the rich rosewood and mahogany 
colors of their backs and wings ! Two or three at 



212 GAME-BIRDS AT HOME. 

a shot you could kill if you wished. But you 
let them all go, for you are after turkeys to-day. 

A few more scrapes of the little box emit 
plaintive yelps, soft and low yet penetrating. 
They seem right to your ears, and — scarcely 
dare you believe it, but — something very much 
like them follows in the distance, too long after 
for an echo, yet so soon after that it must be in 
answer to the call. Careful now! The birds 
are young and not over-sharp, but still you must 
not grow too confident or you may make a fatal 
slip. After a proper time you give two or three 
more careful calls, and your hair almost lifts your 
hat off as the reply sounds unmistakably nearer. 
The critical time is at hand when the temptation 
to call too quickly, too often, too loud, or to 
make a false note through nervousness, will often 
overcome one, and Putt — putt — putt in the dis- 
tance is all you will again hear of your game. 
And you may not have that little satisfaction, 
but may sit and call to the woods and rills until 
the inner man begins to rebel. 

Soon the reply comes so alarmingly near that 
it is time to get the gun ready, so that it will 
not have to be moved after the game comes in 



THE WILD TURKEY. 213 

sight, for the slightest flash of Hght from it, 
even with no sun shining on it, may make the 
game vanish before the quickest shot could catch 
it. And now the utmost caution with the call 
is needed, for there is little distance to soften 
your mistakes. Your fingers, too, are trembling: 
but there is no disgrace about that ; for the man 
who cannot get nervous in the presence of noble 
game is but a butcher and not a sportsman. Ten- 
derly you scrape the raised edge of the little box 
against the gun, and get ready to touch the 
trigger. Soon there is an answer, and your heart 
beats as never before, for you realize it is so 
close that it will not be safe to answer it. The 
dog knows it too, for now he lies still as death 
beside you. He trembles, and the twitching at 
his nose shows he would whine with anxiety if 
he were not too well broken. 

Suddenly your straining eyes detect something 
moving in the edge of the underbrush beyond 
the little open space in front of your blind, and 
in a moment more out steps a dark bird that to 
your startled fancy seems as large as an ostrich. 
He is not fifty yards away ; there is no time to 
gauge his size, or speculate on his coming closer. 



214 GAME-BIRDS AT HOME. 

Bang goes the gun, and you almost tear your 
eyes out breaking from the bHnd as you hear a 
beat of heavy wings which is not that of flight. 
In a moment man, dog, and turkey are tumbhng 
about in a heap, and you have the bird by the 
neck. Only a young one, small and not over- 
fat ; but still a turkey, as really as if he weighed 
a ton. 

And don't allow your triumph to be marred 
by the reflection that you might not have called 
him so easily if he had been a little larger. 

The wildest of game is sometimes off guard, 
and the rankest blockhead may have luck enough 
to make him think himself a born hunter. It is 
very seldom that the wild turkey is thus found 
off watch, but I once caught a full drove of 
them napping, in a way allowed few mortal men. 

It was a little after dawn, in November 1864, 
when, with several companions, I crossed the 
Illinois River for a deer-drive in the timbered 
bluffs on the east side. There were then many 
miles of heavy timber with scarcely a settler, for 
plenty of the best prairie lay yet untaken. The 
first snow of the season had fallen during the 
night, and lay some two inches deep on the 



THE WILD TURKEY. 21 5 

ground. Mallards and sprig-tails, widgeons, gad- 
wells, and blue-bills, with teal by the thousand, 
whizzed southward over our heads as we crossed 
the rope ferry ; and dark lines in the zenith 
headed in the same direction, from which fell 
the clarion tones of the goose and the reverberat- 
ing tremolo of the sand-hill crane, told that they 
too thought it time to be looking up winter 
quarters. With our old-fashioned muzzle-loaders, 
loaded with Ely's wire buckshot cartridges, — 
which could always be relied on to go like a 
bullet when you wanted them to scatter, and to 
break at the muzzle when you wanted them to 
hold together, but which in the long-run were 
better than loose buckshot, — we were soon 
upon the bluffs. Nearly all the leaves had fallen 
except the brown foliage of the white oaks ; the 
woods, though quite open, looked wild, but there 
was no sign of life except big yellow fox-squir- 
rels and gray squirrels scampering over the 
ground, dodging around some trunk or hiding in 
some crotch, while the melancholy jingle of the 
jay was about the only sign of bird-life. 

But before I with one-companion had gone a 
mile, tracks of the wild turkey began to appear 



2l6 GAME-BIRDS AT HOME. 

in great numbers ; and as they were then quite 
plenty here, and as the walking was soft, we 
stopped talking and slipped along quietly. We 
had faint hope and no expectation ; but as it was 
on the way to our stands for the deer-drive, we 
thought we might as well make the best of what 
faint chance there was. The number of tracks 
rapidly increased, and it became plain that not a 
flock but a large drove was feeding ahead of us. 
We sped along on half tiptoe, with guns ready, 
and suddenly the silence of the woods was broken 
as we came to the edge of a little ravine by such 
a roar of wings as was rarely heard there even 
in those days, and probably never now in that 
State. From the bottom of the ravine, not over 
twenty feet deep and not ten yards distant, 
thirty or forty full-grown turkeys, each seeming 
as big as an open umbrella, were in the air at 
once exactly like a flock of quails, and mounting 
with a velocity and ease quite incredible to those 
who have seen only the domestic turkey fly up 
to roost. Before such a dress parade all other 
sights of the hills and woods seem ridiculous. 
I would go farther without a gun to see it once 
more than to see the biggest moose that ever 



THE WILD TURKEY. 2\J 

Indian called and with the best rifle in hand that 
ever white man made. The finest buck that 
ever dashed the snow from the brush as he 
leaped the big hurdles of a windfall is a '' chump 
show " beside it, and the sheen of those brilliant 
wings and backs, as seen in memory alone, is far 
more pleasant after the lapse of thirty years than 
a wall full of the finest ''trophies" that elk or 
big-horn ever bore. The beamy chestnut and 
glistening black and bronze, the red of dewlaps 
and wattles with the dark fringes on the gob- 
bler's breasts, all shone before our rising guns like 
the splendors of some warrior host in full charge 
upon us. 

My companion was an old hunter, and the 
best shot in Marshall County. For twenty-two 
I was as good a brush-shot as old New Jersey 
generally graduates from her cat-brier swamps, 
though not as cool and steady under all circum- 
stances as my companion. But then it did not 
need much skill to take in at least four. The 
broad tails outspread like huge fans, and the great 
flapping wings made such big marks it was im- 
possible to miss them with even a pistol ; while 
the buckshot in the wire cages of the cartridges 



2l8 GAME-BIRDS AT HOME. 

were surely big enough to kill. Within brick- 
bat-range three grand birds were scattering 
leaves and snow in the wake of their mighty 
wings, and so close together that only about an 
inch of space appeared between them. Unable 
to resist the temptation to play the pig, I whirled 
the gun upon this central point and fired, and, 
without waiting for the rising of the smoke to 
show the result, turned the other barrel on a big 
gobbler that was wheeling to my side with his 
long beard flat against his breast with speed. 
My companion picked out a single bird for each 
barrel, and both the first and second barrels of 
the two guns woke the echoes of the hills to- 
gether, neither being wasted on the same bird. 

Like rockets the rest of the flock towered over 
the trees or wound among the tops, some spin- 
ning away on straight lines, others rising more 
as if they still wanted us to see them. One 
great gobbler swayed the head of a trim bass- 
wood several feet out of perpendicular as he lit 
in its top some three hundred yards away, and 
another brightened with his presence the somber 
top of a white oak a little farther on. But the 
rest faded over the distant trees like a beautiful 



THE WILD TURKEY. 219 

dream, and the roar of their wings died away 
like the last strain of some soul-touching song. 

'' How many dropped? " 

As Prometheus observed to lo, 

ro fXT} jucx^eiv aoi xP^'^o-aov ^ ^a^eiv rade. 

He was too much of a gentleman to tell her it 
was none of her business. 



THE END. 



